Missing Persons
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: When Fenton Hardy announced that he was going to Cascade, Washington on the trail of a missing person, his sons wanted to go with him, but he turned them down – although he promised to look up police detectives Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg while he was there. But when Fenton mysteriously disappears as well, Joe and Frank head for the West coast in an attempt to find him.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

 **Missing Persons**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Talefeathers

Chapter 1

"Frank – Joe? Could you two come in here a moment?" Fenton Hardy popped his head out of his study and beckoned to his sons, who both happened to be in the family room watching television.

A few moments later the boys were seated in Fenton's 'client' chairs facing their father, who had re-seated himself behind his desk. "What's up, Dad?" Frank asked curiously.

"I just wanted to give you a heads-up before I left," Fenton replied. "I'm following the trail of a missing person – at least, her family thinks she's missing. Personally, I expect she's just asserting her independence a little, but if they want me to locate her and make sure she's all right, I can do that." He grinned a little, brown eyes twinkling. "It sounds like a pretty easy case...but I wanted to tell you about it before I left, just so you'd have some idea what I'll be doing."

They waited while Fenton opened up a manila file folder. "Her name is Roberta Van Lansing, nickname Bobbi," the detective began, "and she's been living in New York City, and working in marketing in Manhattan. Her parents – and a younger sibling – live in Highland where her father is a banker. Background states that she's highly intelligent, motivated, a rising star in the world of finance." He grinned at his sons briefly. "You know the type. Here's her picture." He turned the folder around and displayed a 5x7" color photograph of a young woman with long, straight auburn hair, wide brown eyes and a teasing smile.

"Pretty!" Joe commented appreciatively. "Don'tcha think, Frank?".

"Mmm-hmmm."

"She's been incommunicado for about two weeks," Fenton continued, turning the file folder back so he could read his notes, "and according to her parents, she never called, came home, or sent a card to her mother on Mother's Day, although she had written briefly a day or two prior. This is apparently such aberrant behavior that it triggered all sorts of alarms."

"And...?" Frank prompted, as his father paused.

"They tried her at all the telephone numbers they had available, and got nothing other than voice mail and answering machines. They tried e-mail and got no replies. Somehow they got the idea in their heads that she must have been kidnapped, but they didn't want to call in the police—" He smiled slightly, "because of the publicity inherent. Bankers hate adverse publicity. So, they called me."

"Do you think she's been kidnapped?" Joe asked shrewdly. "Have there been any ransom notes or calls or anything like that?"

"None – and I very much doubt it," his father replied. "I've checked with her place of employment, and they said she asked for some personal leave time. She's arranged to have her mail held at the post office, and her apartment manager said she paid a month's rent in advance, but told him she might be gone for awhile. And," he added, "she paid for an airline ticket with a credit card."

"Where'd she go?" asked Frank, at the same time Joe burst out, "Why would her parents think she was kidnapped, then?"

"It's sort of a...well, they don't want to believe that Bobbi would just leave the area without telling them," Mr. Hardy explained, "so they've convinced themselves that since she is gone and didn't say goodbye and didn't send her mother a card for Mother's Day, that – well, that she must have been kidnapped! There simply is no other explanation for it, in Mr. and Mrs. Van Lansing's minds." His eyes twinkled. "And as for where she went – well, this is one reason I thought you two might find the case interesting. She went to the West Coast. Specifically, Washington state. More specifically, a city on Puget Sound called Cascade."

"CASCADE!" The cry burst from two throats in unison, and Fenton's smile broadened at his sons' reaction – which he had fully expected.

"You're going to Cascade? Dad, can we go along? Please?!" Joe implored.

"We could help you look for her," Frank cut in, "and it's not like we're busy—"

"Frank's done with classes at the U—"

"Joe just graduated from high school—"

"We could see Jim and Blair again – and Daryl and Captain Banks!"

"CAN we?"

"Whoa! Stop, stop, stop, stop!" Fenton was laughing heartily, but shaking his head in denial of the impassioned pleas. "I'm sorry, boys, but I don't think the expense account can be padded to fit in two more flights out there when I don't really need you there. All I'm going to do is find this young woman, verify that she's all right, and encourage her to contact her anxious relatives. She's using credit cards and her own name; I don't foresee any need for two extra assistants."

"Awww...shucks." Frank and Joe exchanged disappointed glances.

"Dad, will you look up Detective Ellison and Detective Sandburg while you're there, though?" Frank suggested. "It would be nice if you could meet them – they're really cool guys."

"I fully intend to," his father said. "I'd like to get acquainted with them, since you two seem to be so impressed with them."

Joe nodded enthusiastically at this. "Nicest cops I've ever met – well, aside from Con, maybe – and you, Dad," he grinned. Privately, he intended to e-mail Sandburg immediately and mention his father's impending arrival in Cascade, so they'd be expecting a call from Fenton.

"Thank you – I think." Fenton rose to his feet, sliding the file folder into his opened briefcase. "I'd better be heading for the airport," he said. "I should be back within a week, but I'll check in every evening like usual, and let you know if plans change. Oh, and I'm leaving a copy of the file, just in case."

"You just taking that?" Joe indicated the briefcase with a smile.

"My travel bag is already in the car," his father laughed. "I want to say goodbye to your mother; then I'm off." He hugged each of the boys quickly. "Take care of things here, and I'll talk with you all tonight after I get there."

"Bye, Dad! Have a good trip!"

Frank and Joe watched Fenton drive away, each feeling somewhat disappointed. They would have been delighted to accompany their father to Cascade and to reconnect with Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg – but they realized that he didn't need them along.

"Maybe next time," Joe sighed, turning away from the window. "I'm gonna go email Blair and tell him Dad's going to be in town, so they aren't surprised when a total stranger calls and tells them 'hi' for us."

#####

Fenton Hardy casually sauntered down the slight decline of the Jetway and entered the early-evening hustle-bustle of Cascade International Airport. He was enjoying himself; due to his profession, he was used to travel, and this particular journey had been a relatively easy one. Although he loved Bayport and the East Coast, and had no intentions to ever relocate, Fenton had to admit that the Pacific Northwest held an allure all its own, with its seacoasts, mountains, rainforest, timberlands and cities all in close proximity.

No one was expecting him; no one was meeting him. Should he go first to his hotel, or start in at once tracking down Ms. Van Lansing? The detective considered his options for a few moments, and then decided that since it was still early by _this_ time zone, he might as well do a little tracking of the Van Lansings' lost lamb, then check into his hotel and _then_ follow his sons' strict instructions to contact those Cascade PD detectives!

Stopping at a convenient bench in the concourse, he took his notes from his briefcase and consulted them. According to the paper trail created by reservations made with credit cards, Bobbi had reserved a room at the Cascade Silver Reef Hotel. Having noted the prices quoted in the hotel brochure, Fenton grimaced a little; Ms. Van Lansing flew high – he, himself, was booked in the Best Western motel nearest the airport! Sighing a little at the injustice of it all, Fenton proceeded to the car rental desk.

#####

"Something interesting?" Detective Jim Ellison paused in his dinner preparations and leaned curiously over the shoulder of his roommate and partner, Blair Sandburg. Sandburg had settled at the kitchen table when they got home, and was pulling up e-mails on his notebook computer; it was his soft whistle of surprise that had snared Ellison's attention.

"It's a note from Joe Hardy." Blair leaned back in his chair to give Jim an unobstructed view. "He says his dad is coming to Cascade on a case – he's intending to look us up."

"Hopefully not to punch us in the snoot for endangering his children every time we encounter them," Ellison said ruefully. He scanned Joe's brief missive and went back into the kitchen to resume his tasks.

"We don't endanger them – well, we didn't the first time," Sandburg amended. "That was purely happenstance. Anyway, Joe doesn't say he's mad at us. Just that he gave him our phone number." He reached up to loosen the tie which confined his long, dark curls, and shook his hair out gratefully.

Jim chuckled. "I can just see that," he mused. "Joe sending an e-mail that says 'My dad is coming to Cascade on a case – oh, and he's also going to punch you out while he's there. DO make him welcome, won't you?'"

Blair cracked up. "We could at least take him out for a drink, or dinner, or something, if he calls," he suggested when he finished laughing.

"We can do that," his partner nodded. "Lucky the weekend's coming; we ought to have some free time."

"If the criminal element of Cascade behaves itself and Simon doesn't decide we haven't had enough to do lately," Blair added, meaning Captain Simon Banks, head of the Major Crimes Division, and their boss.

"Keep your fingers crossed, Chief," Ellison replied, and went on chopping green pepper for the stir-fry he was concocting for their dinner.

#####

The front desk clerk at the Silver Reef had been reasonably polite and helpful – but Fenton was still frustrated by his lack of success in locating Roberta Van Lansing. According to the desk clerk she was registered in the hotel, but was not currently in residence. The best Mr. Hardy could do was to leave her a message – and how to word that message was a problem in itself. If, as Fenton privately suspected, she was just trying to get away from a smothering set of parents for awhile, she wasn't going to take kindly to discovering that she'd been tracked down by a private detective at their behest! If she was actually up to something shady, which was unlikely, she wouldn't be pleased about his showing up either. If she was in trouble – who knew what the repercussions might be, or if she'd even get the message?

Finally he merely scribbled a note that identified himself and his mission, and stated that her parents were worried about her, and had asked that he locate her if at all possible. He requested that she contact him at her earliest convenience, and mentioned that if he did not hear from her in the next day he would stop by again. A postscript suggested that she call her parents, as well. Placing the note in a hotel envelope, he entrusted it to the desk clerk's care, and departed.

Having eaten a quick dinner in the coffee shop near the motel, unpacked and settled in his own slightly more moderate lodgings, Fenton debated whether or not to call Detectives Sandburg and Ellison that night. It wasn't yet nine o'clock, so it wasn't too late to be calling someone, even a relative stranger, but still, he hesitated briefly. He didn't want to intrude, and these two cops might not _want_ to be contacted – but he'd promised Frank and Joe, after all. Finally he lifted the receiver of the room phone and dialed the number he'd been given.

" _Ellison_." The single-word reply was terse and no-nonsense.

"Uh – yes, Detective Ellison? My name is Fenton Hardy. I believe you're acquainted with my sons, Frank and Joe?"

To Fenton's real surprise the curt voice immediately warmed. _"We've been expecting your call; Joe e-mailed Sandburg that you were coming to Cascade."_

"You were? Joe did?" Fenton hastily gathered his wits, as he heard Jim Ellison's amused chuckle.

" _Mr. Hardy, we'd like to invite you over for a drink, or meet for dinner, or lunch, or whatever best suits everyone,"_ Ellison was saying now _. "Sandburg and I have the weekend off, and tomorrow evening after work we're free. And there's always lunch hours. What does your schedule look like?"_

"I'm here looking for a missing person," Fenton explained. "Perhaps Joe told you. It all depends on whether I can connect with her or not; she doesn't seem to be really missing, just not contacting her family. And please, call me Fenton."

" _Missing persons. Been there, know the drill,"_ Jim grunted. _"Suppose you give us a call tomorrow around lunchtime, and we can set up something more definite. Oh, and lunch can be anywhere from eleven to three,"_ he added ruefully. _"Do you have our cell numbers? No? Let me give them to you – and my number at the precinct."_

Mr. Hardy jotted down the numbers, and reciprocated with his own cell number and the number at the motel, and promised to call.

"The boys wanted to come along with me," he found himself saying, and heard two sets of chuckles in response; evidently Detective Sandburg had picked up an extension.

" _That sounds like them,"_ a new voice put in – a more mellow voice than Jim Ellison's clipped tones _. "Blair Sandburg here, Mr. Hardy. I'm looking forward to meeting you in person."_

"Likewise," Fenton responded, and found it was true. These strangers were surprisingly engaging.

" _We'd ask you over tonight, but we know you've had a long day,"_ Sandburg said. _"So we'll just shoot for lunch tomorrow, and then go from there."_

" _Let us know if there's any way we can assist in your search – unofficially,"_ Jim put in, and again Fenton felt a stab of surprise at the man's cordiality.

Ending the conversation, Mr. Hardy dialed home. It was getting late back on the East coast, and he knew he needed to 'report in.'

Frank answered. _"Dad? We were beginning to get a little worried!"_

"Sorry," Fenton apologized, "I know it's later than I usually call, but it was so early when I got here that I started right to work."

" _Anything?"_

"Found her hotel, but she was out. I left a message, and I'll check back tomorrow. It's nicer than mine – the Silver Reef, it's called. Right on the water."

" _Did you call—"_

"Yes," Fenton laughed softly. "I just got off the phone with your friends Jim and Blair. They sound very pleasant, and we're planning to get together tomorrow, probably for lunch. Maybe for dinner as well."

" _Good."_ Frank was obviously pleased.

"Is your mother still awake?"

" _I think so; hang on..."_

After speaking briefly with Laura, Fenton decided to call it a night. It might be only 9:30 here, but his body still insisted he was on Eastern time, and was demanding sleep.

#####

Morning brought a fruitless phone call to the Silver Reef, a decent breakfast in the coffee shop, and a lot of thumb-twiddling. Finally, armed with the photo of Bobbi Van Lansing, Fenton went over to her hotel, left another note with the front desk clerk, and began working his way outward, stopping in at various nearby shops and stores which a young woman might be tempted to visit, and inquiring if Bobbi had been there. Maybe he'd get lucky and actually encounter her while she was shopping; unlikely things happened sometimes, after all.

Lunchtime came at last, and Fenton gratefully dialed the number Jim Ellison had given him the night before.

" _Ellison's desk; this is Detective Sandburg."_

"It's Fenton Hardy, Detective—"

" _Call me Blair,"_ Sandburg interrupted. _"You ready for lunch with a couple of cops?"_

"More than ready," Mr. Hardy sighed, and heard Blair laugh knowingly.

" _That kind of a morning, huh? Jim and I are ready to get outta here too; we've been writing reports since 8:30. Where are you now?"_

After hearing Fenton's location, Sandburg thought a moment _. "How about meeting us at The Breakwater in about 20 minutes?"_ he proposed. _"It's just down 25_ _th_ _from you, toward the Sound, and it serves good seafood. Their crabmeat sandwiches are_ _to die for!"_

A muffled voice on Sandburg's end of the line caught Mr. Hardy's attention, and then he heard Blair chuckle and say, away from the phone, _"Yes, Jim, yes, that's what I said, The Breakwater, and you know what their lunch specials are like – okay, okay, I'm hanging up so we can leave!"_ Then, returning to his phone conversation, he said, _"Does that work for you, Mr. Hardy?"_

"That's Fenton, and it sounds great! I'll meet you there."

#####

"He said he'd meet us here – it's right down the street from the hotel," Sandburg fretted.

"Relax, Chief, maybe he got a phone call or had car trouble or something. It's only been fifteen minutes."

"He'd have called. He has our cell numbers." Blair refused to be soothed. He looked at his watch again and sighed. "Maybe we ought to go over to the Best Western and check..."

"And if he comes and we're not here?"

"Well then, one of us stays and one of us goes. I got a bad feeling about this, man."

"Okay, okay." Ellison sighed and got to his feet, running a hand over his short dark hair. "I'll go. Will that satisfy you?"

"Thanks, Jim." Sandburg's ocean-blue eyes were filled with gratitude. "I'll call you if he shows up."

"Okay."

"Jim – I'm sorry; it's just that I can't help worrying..."

"Hey." The older detective rested a hand on Sandburg's shoulder. "I'm worried too, partner."

###

Ten minutes later Ellison was more than slightly worried. There had been no answer when he knocked on the door of Fenton's room. Flashing his badge got him an escort with a passkey, who opened the door to an empty – and disorderly – room. All of Ellison's cop instincts were screaming at him that there was something amiss here, and he leaned against the closed door and snapped open his cell phone.

"Chief? Grab a cab and get over here. I think we've got a missing detective."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

Thank you, Sarai!

 **Missing Persons**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 2

"Of all the IDIOTIC – what are we going to do NOW?"

The young woman flung up her hands in dismay and spun on her heel, pacing the width of the basement storage room. She whirled again, her long auburn hair flying about her face with the momentum of the turn. She brushed it back impatiently.

"Bruno, why in Heaven's name did you knock out that man and bring him here?" She glared at the big man standing next to the door, and he actually cowered away from her fury.

"He was tryin' to track you down, Miss Bobbi. I didn't figure you wanted him to find you—"

"He already had found me, you – you – augh! All I had to do was talk to him, tell him I'd call my parents, or whatever might satisfy them, and he'd have gone home, back to Bayport!"

"Bobbi—"

She whirled again, her angry gaze now directed at someone else: a handsome man in his late twenties who was leaning comfortably against the frame of a massive furnace, his arms folded across his chest. "Are you going to try to defend him, Darius?"

"It wasn't entirely Bruno's idea," the man faltered. His brilliant dark eyes dropped before Bobbi's challenging stare. "I – um – suggested it to him and Rico."

She blinked. Took a deep breath and let it out. "Why?" she finally asked – in a surprisingly calm tone.

"Having some detective following you...well, it made me nervous."

Bobbi sighed. "Darius, darling, you are the most brilliant stockbroker and potential juggler of funds I have ever met – not to mention the most deliciously handsome – and I love you dearly..." She paused, watching the young man's face flush with pleasure at the compliments. "But everything – and I mean everything – makes you nervous!"

"That's not true! And anyhow, you don't think being followed from the East Coast by a private eye is something to be nervous about?" he challenged.

"He wasn't following YOU! And I think that when that 'private eye' is Fenton Hardy of Bayport – the Fenton Hardy – it would be well to be careful. And kidnapping the man from his hotel room is not exactly being careful, now is it? He wasn't tracking me to apprehend me for some crime, Dar – he was following me because my parents are worried about me! He was just trying to locate me for them! Remember, I came out here and didn't tell them anything about it. I just...left." Her eyes flashed, speaking volumes to the man. "I wanted to be with you."

"But we don't know that for sure, do we?" Darius began nervously. "What if it was the Morano family? What if they discovered that the stock portfolio I set up for them isn't worth as much as they think? Maybe they did their annual audits early. Do you think they discovered—"

"Darius – darling – enough! Fenton Hardy was after me, not you."

"But how can you be sure of that?"

"I read the notes the man left for me at my hotel, that's how." She threw exasperated looks at both men. "AND the notebook Bruno brought along – I'll admit, Bruno, if you were going to snatch him, bringing the case notes was a good move. Makes it look more like he left of his own accord and took them along."

"Thanks, Miss Bobbi," the big man grinned.

"But you didn't need to snatch him in the first place!" Bobbi shrilled, furious once more.

Bruno sagged against the door, looking down at the floor sadly.

"Cuddles—" Darius took a hesitant step towards his irate girlfriend. "We can work it out; it'll be okay."

"Darius, kidnapping's a federal crime! And right now I don't think I care to be called 'Cuddles'!"

His dark eyes raked her humorously. "So's fraud, but you seem to be able to live with that!" The twinkle in the eyes faded slightly. "Maybe trying a little larceny on the side wasn't such a good idea after all."

Now it was Bobbi's turn to fold her arms and look at the floor. "This is getting awfully complicated," she muttered.

#####

In another storage room nearby, Fenton Hardy slowly raised his head, wincing sharply at the throbbing pain emanating from the back of it. Try though he might, he couldn't see anything – and after a few moments he realized why: a soft cloth bound over his eyes prevented it. He had been blindfolded, and, he discovered, he was tied to the chair where he sat! His hands weren't confined, but ropes looped about his chest and arms kept him firmly secured, and it felt like his ankles were tied as well.

 _What in hell is this all about?_ He tried to focus through the pounding headache, attempting to remember exactly what had taken place, and how he had ended up here in this _very_ unanticipated predicament.

He'd been in his motel room, having just finished his telephone conversation with Detective Sandburg. He'd gone into the bathroom to comb his hair and brush his teeth before their lunch date. Just as he emerged, there had been a knock on the outer door. Assuming it to be someone from the motel staff, he'd opened it – foolishly, it seemed in retrospect.

He'd barely cracked it open when it was shoved from the outside, and two men had roughly barreled their way into the room, men with woolen ski masks covering their faces – definitely unusual for the current climate and temperature! Before he could react, Fenton had found himself grabbed by the larger of the two – who was considerably larger than the Bayport detective – and his struggles to free himself were useless. He'd done his best, trying to fight them off, but the odds weren't good. He'd heard just one sentence: "Aw, just knock him in the head and be done with it, Bruno!"

And he'd felt one crashing blow to his head – and all went dark.

###

So...here he was, and he had no idea why. Or where _here_ was, for that matter. He shifted, trying to find a little 'give' in the ropes, but there didn't seem to be much slack. Whoever had tied him was a professional...but wasn't sadistic.

Fenton abruptly stopped moving, tensing. He was sure he had heard something – had heard movement nearby. A rustling noise, as of clothing shifting...someone was close to him. "Hello? Who's there?" he ventured, trying to sound annoyed, rather than alarmed. "Speak up!"

There was no reply, but the rustling noises continued, and then the detective heard footsteps, followed by the sound of a door being opened. The footsteps receded. The door was not closed.

Straining his ears, Fenton heard a not-too-distant voice speaking. It sounded familiar; he suspected it was the same man who had advised 'Bruno' to knock him in the head. "He's awake."

"So now what do we do?" To Fenton's surprise, the second voice was feminine – and very cross!

"Question him?" It was a third voice, a soft, educated tenor.

 _How many people are in there?_ The detective squirmed vainly against his bindings, then settled down again to listen.

"Question him about what?" It was the woman again. "We already know why he was following me!"

 _Okay_...So he was being held captive by the elusive Roberta Van Lansing – or rather, by her friends or associates. And she didn't sound very happy about it. _Just what sort of associates is she...associating...with, anyway?_

"Maybe we should move him – somewhere else, you know, further out of the city."

"Take him out in the country and leave him – but not so far that he wouldn't be found...eventually." _Another_ male voice, this one deep and gravelly.

"Bruno, do you have any idea of what the country is like, around here?" It was Bobbi again, and she still sounded exasperated. "You've been here, what – a week? Two? Have you even been out of Cascade in that time? We're talking mountains here, and forests with extremely large, hungry animals in them!"

"Geez, Miss Bobbi, I'm just suggestin'—"

"Taking him away from Cascade might not be a bad idea – just for a couple of days, until things have settled a bit."

"I repeat: where? Darius, you haven't been here any longer than Rico and Bruno; just where would you take him? And how would it look, with all of us having to run back and forth to guard him and feed him and..."

"Well, I suppose we could just kill him and be done with it."

 _WHAT? Kill me? Hey, wait a minute here...!_

"NO! Are you insane?"

"It was a joke, Cuddles. A joke. Okay, okay, enough already! We leave him here for the time being, and try to figure out what to do."

Fenton sagged against the ropes with a huge sigh of relief. _Bobbi...Darius...Bruno...and someone else,_ he mentally cataloged his captors. Obviously Miss Van Lansing was into something that her loving family had no clues about – which was why she'd been playing hide-and-seek with him. Well, he'd wondered. Now he knew – well, at least he knew that she wasn't merely out here on a vacation. But who in the world were these other guys?

And what time was it? Had Ellison and Sandburg wondered why he didn't show up for lunch? Or assumed that he was some sort of flake, and ditched them? What would his family do, when he failed to check in with them this evening?

Fenton sighed again, no longer quite so relieved. He was in a real mess, and no mistake. He wanted to hear more, but to his dismay someone abruptly shut the door – leaving him with his dismal thoughts.

In the adjoining room conversation lagged momentarily while Rico returned to watching his charge.

"Bruno," Darius began after a short interval, "Could you arrange to feed our guest? And perhaps pick up some more groceries while you're at it? I don't know that we have enough food here to feed us all, and going back to the hotel might not be a very good option – at least, not for long periods of time."

"Sure thing, Darius," the large man answered with a smile.

Bobbi watched Bruno leave the room, then turned to address her boyfriend.

"Can you just tell me-again – why we shouldn't just let him go, or leave him somewhere and tell the cops where to find him?" she asked plaintively.

"But he knows who we are! He'll be able to lead the police right back to us!"

"HOW, Dar?" Bobbi challenged, her voice rising, "How in the world will he lead anyone back to us? He never even saw us."

"Do we know that for sure? Maybe he got a glimpse of Bruno. I don't want Bruno to go to jail."

The redhead took a deep calming breath as she silently counted to ten. "Darius, darling, will you stop and listen to yourself? He didn't see any of us. And even if he had, we could just tell him it was all a bit of fun. A practical joke that got out of hand. Or...a mistake, a misunderstanding." The young woman crossed over to her boyfriend and took his hand in hers, stroking it gently, soothingly with her thumb. "No one has to go to jail. We can even arrange to upgrade his hotel accommodations if that makes you happier. Throw enough money at a problem, and it will go away."

"I don't know Cuddles..." the young man began anxiously, only to be cut off by a finger against his lips.

"Darius, please," she implored him, "Let him go. We don't need the kind of trouble a kidnapping will bring. You're not thinking clearly."

Darius sighed, and smiled worriedly at his girlfriend. "Let me think about it. You're right – I'm not really thinking very straight at the moment. I just get so jittery sometimes..."

"I know, Dar, I know," Bobbi crooned softly, soothingly.

"Give me a day or two, I'll have figured out what to do by then. I mean, it won't hurt him to wait a couple of days. We'll take good care of him. I mean, it isn't like we'd mistreat him or anything."

Bobbi nodded her head. Apparently, that was the best she was going to get. A day was all she figured it would take to bring Darius around, anyway.

#####

Jim Ellison was still leaning against the outside door of Fenton Hardy's motel room when his partner arrived. Blair – the thrifty grad student still cropping out in him, even after more than a year as a detective – hadn't waited for a taxicab; he'd hopped on a city bus and ridden the ten or so blocks from the restaurant to the motel. Jim spotted him jogging across the dusty parking lot, and waved and whistled sharply. "Here, Sandburg!"

A few moments later Blair was beside him. "I feel like you ought to give me a puppy treat, after that!" the younger man complained teasingly, then sobered. "What've we got?"

"C'mon in. I didn't want to start without you." Ellison unlocked the door with the passkey he'd been given and propelled his partner through it, followed him in and shut it behind them.

"Whoa..." Blair stared at the clothing scattered about on the floor, the open dresser drawers, the crumpled sheets of paper from a yellow legal pad, the overturned wastebasket.

"That was kinda my take on it too. Something went down here. I wonder if someone was in a fight – or someone else was looking for something?"

Sandburg narrowed his eyes. "Well...maybe...I guess he could just be a slob, ya know?"

The Sentinel shook his head. "That's stretching things, Chief. I'd say if there's anyone not likely to be a slob, it's probably Fenton Hardy."

"It doesn't look all that much different from my room at home, though...Frank said Joe was messy; maybe he takes after his father," Blair argued weakly, then shrugged, conceding that Jim was probably right. "Okay, I admit that's a little different. I live there; he's only been here one night and this morning. Do you see any signs of injury, blood or anything? Should we report it?" He glanced up at Ellison, briefly meeting the ice-blue eyes. "Right. We'll hold off for a bit. Okay, let's see what we can come up with."

Using all their skills as police detectives and all Jim's _specialized_ skills as a Sentinel, they went over the room, inch by inch. There was distressingly little to find. Toiletries on the counter in the bathroom; the toothbrush clearly had been recently used. A few dark hairs in a comb. Clothing neatly hung up in the closet contrasted with the articles dumped on the floor, quite evidently from the drawers.

"Prints?" Blair asked, as Ellison emerged from the bathroom.

"Just ones that I assume are Hardy's, on the glass, and his razor and other things. Doubtful that the maid's been here yet today, since the bed was unmade. You pick up on anything out here?"

"Maybe..." Sandburg said slowly. "It's the absence of something, though, rather than the presence. There's no case notes anywhere. His briefcase is here, but there's nothing in it except that legal pad and a pen. No pictures of who he was looking for, no file... _nada_! I suppose he could have left suddenly and taken them along, though."

Ellison frowned. "Anything on those sheets of paper?" he asked, indicating the wadded-up pages now in the righted wastebasket.

"No. Odd, huh? Why rip out blank pages?"

Jim was reaching into the trash, pulling out the papers and smoothing them carefully on the surface of the table. "Maybe they aren't quite as blank as they seem," he said cryptically, and bending over, began carefully running his fingertips over the sheets, one by one. "Someone took the original page, but there are some indentations..."

Blair, realizing what he was doing, drew near and hovered at his elbow, resting his hand lightly on the bigger man's shoulder blade. "Go ahead and dial touch high," he whispered. "I've got you."

After long seconds, Ellison looked up, lips curling in a feral grin. "There are things written in two different handwritings. One says 'The Breakwater, 25th Street.' Nice, neat block printing; I'd bet that's Hardy's. The other is scribbled, hardly legible...write this down," he murmured, still tracing over the paper, and Blair obediently copied down a telephone number as Jim read it to him, followed by the initial 'J,' and then a cryptic 'L. Twrs.'

"That's all," Ellison sighed, straightening up from his stooped position.

"We can try to trace the number – and what do you suppose 'L. Twrs' means? Someone's name?" Blair carefully pocketed the card on which he'd jotted their scant information.

"That we'll have to find out." Jim began replacing clothing in the dresser drawers. "For now, let's straighten things up a little and get out of here. Mr. Hardy's still checked in here, so it's not like the motel's going to rent out the room from under him. Maybe we're wrong about this, and he'll be back here this afternoon from following up a hot tip on his missing person."

"He would have called us," Blair said sadly, following his partner's example and setting the disarrayed room to rights. "I know he would have, Jim."

"I agree, Chief. And," Ellison paused, looking somber. "How long do we wait before we call the Hardy kids and tell them we think their father's been assaulted and kidnapped?"


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

 **Missing Persons**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 3

"Anything on that phone number yet, Chief?"

"Not so far. No answer when I dial it, and I haven't been able to locate it by cross-reference yet. What about 'L. Twrs'?"

"Couple of possibilities we can check on. Nothing definite." Ellison glanced surreptitiously about the Major Crimes bullpen to make sure that no one was paying any especial attention to what he and Sandburg were doing. Since they looked to be busy and absorbed in running searches, no one questioned whether or not it was actually case-related. Late Friday afternoons were usually pretty relaxed anyway, unless a major bust was going down, so it wasn't likely that their activities would be noticed. "Keep looking."

"I'm going to keep trying Hardy's telephone numbers, too," Sandburg noted quietly. He'd already gotten an irritating ' _The party you are trying to reach has either turned off the cell phone or is out of the service area,'_ recording when he dialed Fenton Hardy's cell number. He paused in his dialing as a soft ' _ping'_ from his computer announced the arrival of e-mail. Putting down the phone he clicked the mouse to access the new message. He hastily scanned it and felt himself turning pale. "Jim?"

"What's wrong?" Ever alert to his Guide's stress levels, both physical and emotional, Ellison noted the elevated heartbeat and quickened breathing.

"I just got an e-mail from Joe Hardy," Blair muttered. "Wondering if we'd had lunch with his dad as planned...because he's missed his usual check-in time with the family."

"Uh-oh." The casual reply belied the detective's worry. "Chief, maybe you ought to give the kids a call, huh?"

Blair sighed deeply. "Yeah, I guess so." Reluctantly, he picked up the telephone receiver again, and with the other hand began twirling his Rolodex. After a few seconds he located the number and started punching buttons on the phone.

" _Hardy residence."_

Blair glanced at his partner; Jim had his head cocked in his familiar 'listening' pose and Blair knew he was keying in on the conversation. "Who?" Blair mouthed silently.

"Joe," was the soundless reply.

"Uh – Joe? Hi, this is Blair Sandburg. I just got your e-mail—"

" _Blair? Wow, that was fast!"_

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I guess it was."

" _Did you and my dad get together?"_

"Well, we were going to, but...uh...Joe? I think there may be a little problem—"

" _Problem? What kind of problem?"_ Joe's voice sharpened.

"Your dad didn't show up for our lunch appointment—"

" _Maybe something came up!"_

"...which he'd confirmed with me only about fifteen minutes before...and he seems to have...disappeared. He's not answering his cell phone, and when Jim and I checked his motel room, it looked as if someone had tossed it."

" _WHAT?"_

Blair winced at the raw anguish in the cry and noted Jim's similar reaction. "We think maybe someone took him," he said quietly.

" _H-hold on a second...lemme get Frank."_ The receiver dropped with a sharp _clunk_. Seconds later both Hardy boys were on the line.

" _Blair? What's this about Dad disappearing?"_ Frank's slightly deeper tones came across the wire clearly.

As quickly as he could, Sandburg explained what had happened, noting absently that Jim was covering for him by looking busy and involved with file folders...and at the same time, was monitoring the conversation closely. When Blair finished his brief recounting of the situation there was a few seconds of silence, then Frank spoke again.

" _I think maybe Joe and I had better get out there. Joe – go tell Mom that Dad needs us in Washington and then see what's the first flight we can catch."_

" _Right."_ There was a soft thud as Joe set down the phone he'd been using.

"Frank, you sure about this? I mean, I understand why you want to come, but—"

" _Yeah, I'm sure. Dad's got too many enemies to just let this go and hope he turns up soon,"_ the elder Hardy said grimly.

"Do you happen to have copies of his case notes?" Blair asked hopefully, as Jim shoved a hastily-scribbled note across their desks. "Everything was gone from his room...so either he took it with him, or..."

" _We have a copy of his file, yeah,"_ Frank replied _. "Photos of the woman he was trying to locate, anyway, and names of her relatives."_

"That will help," Sandburg said fervently. "Bring them along."

" _All right. One of us will e-mail you as soon as we know when we'll be getting to Cascade and the flight number. I've gotta go and throw some clothes in a suitcase."_

"Right. We'll meet you at the airport. See you soon – and Frank? I'm really, really sorry, man."

" _I know."_ For a brief moment Frank's voice sounded choked. _"See you in a few hours."_

Blair hung up the phone and stared at his partner, shaking his head grimly.

#####

"Boys, are you positive you need to do this?" Laura Hardy looked from one son to the other, her blue eyes wide in her pale, anxious face. This wasn't the first time she'd received upsetting news about her detective husband, but it never got any easier to hear or deal with, no matter how often the situation repeated itself.

"Mom, if Jim and Blair are concerned about it, that's good enough for us," Frank stated. "You know that Dad would have called us if he possibly could, and since he didn't – and since he missed the lunch appointment with them AND they think his motel room was ransacked—"

"I know, I know," she interrupted. "I'm just worried that if you two go out there, something will happen to you, as well!"

"Mom, we'll be under the protection of two of the best police detectives around," Joe said persuasively. "Three, if you count Captain Banks. Jim and Blair won't let anything happen to us!"

"Who knows, maybe by the time we get out there, Dad will have turned up anyway," Frank added optimistically.

She nodded, looking slightly less unhappy. "I got you seats on a flight leaving at six a.m. It has a short stopover in Washington, D.C., and gets to Cascade about eleven in the morning, Pacific time. That's the earliest flight there is."

"Then that's the one we want. Thanks, Mom!" Frank got to his feet. "I'm going to try to catch a few hours of sleep. You'd better too, little brother." He nudged Joe's shoulder and then bent over to hug his mother. "Mom, why don't you figure on not getting up to see us off – just say goodbye now? There's no reason we can't get ourselves off to the airport."

Laura smiled, hugging him tightly. "If I'm awake and hear you get up, I'll get up too – but I won't set an alarm if you don't want me to. Stay safe, sweetie."

"Bye, Mom." Joe took his turn embracing Laura. "We'll be home before you know it, Dad in tow and his missing person found!"

#####

Two very bedraggled young men trudged through the Jetway and into the concourse of the Cascade International Airport at noon, PST, the next day, duffel bags slung over their shoulders. They were weary from hours of flying exacerbated by very little sleep the night before, and their whole outlook was jaded by intense worry over their missing father. During their flight they had alternately fretted and reassured each other of Fenton's wellbeing, trying to keep up a brave front – but their resolve was slipping badly.

"I don't remember this place being so huge," Frank muttered, plodding wearily past gate after gate, his gaze fixed on the distant security checkpoint. "It never took us so long to walk it when we were here before, did it?"

"Maybe they added on to it," Joe offered.

"Since August? Remodeled an airport in less than a year? C'mon."

Joe shrugged slightly. "It was just an idea."

Finally they slogged past the barricades, relieved that incoming passengers weren't subjected to security checks, and paused to look around.

"See anything of them?" Frank asked wearily.

"No. Blair said he'd meet us," Joe mumbled. "Maybe he got delayed or something."

"Or not," a somewhat-familiar voice broke in. The Hardys turned, surprised, and discovered both Detectives Sandburg and Ellison standing nearby, smiling at them. "How are you two doing?" Ellison continued, his blue eyes studying them keenly as he stepped forward and relieved Frank of his duffel. "C'mon, it's not too far to the car."

"We fudged and parked in a No-Parking zone – used the Mars lights," Blair chuckled and took Joe's bag. "You okay, Joe?" he added, his gaze nearly as sharp as his partner's.

"Just tired. Long flight." Joe shook himself alert. "You haven't heard from Dad—?"

"No. Sorry." Ellison patted his shoulder gently and again urged them forward. The boys tried to move a little more energetically, but it took effort, and they appreciated the fact that neither detective attempted to make casual conversation. They were glad to step out of the terminal and find Blair's car, a green Volvo sedan of indeterminate age, parked close to the huge revolving door. As Sandburg had said, a flashing portable red-and-blue light was perched on the dash, indicating an 'official' police visit.

"People will think you arrested us, or something," Frank muttered gloomily, scooting into the back seat as Jim put their bags into the trunk and Blair slid behind the wheel.

Sandburg laughed. "You aren't cuffed," he reminded them. Joe and Jim got in and shut the doors. "Would you two rather stay in your dad's motel room, or come home with us?" he continued. "Or maybe get another room?"

Frank and Joe shared a glance. Somehow neither one of them felt like being on their own just now. "Um...if we wouldn't be a bother to you..." Frank began.

"If it was a bother we wouldn't offer," Ellison said. "And I can appreciate how you might not want to stay in what might be a crime scene. As long as you don't mind sleeping on the couch or a sleeping bag on the floor of the living room—"

"Or in my room," Blair interjected. He spared an oblique look at Jim, and his lips moved, murmuring words only a Sentinel could discern. "Protector of the tribe – even tribal members from out of state..." Ellison winked at him and turned to gaze serenely out the front window.

"That's fine; we're not picky." Frank nodded his appreciation, and sat back, trying to relax. He was exhausted, yet wired at the same time. _It's hard to categorize these two_ , the elder Hardy thought, surveying the police partners through half-closed eyes. Ellison was just about old enough to be his and Joe's father, if Jim had been the sort who started early – but he didn't really _seem_ all that paternal in nature. Protective, yes. Authoritative, definitely. Paternal?...uh-uh! Blair wasn't even remotely father-like; there was a youthful exuberance about him that belied his age, and yet...and yet...that protective aura surrounded him as well. Frank sighed and decided that perhaps 'younger uncles' might fit – or maybe _way_ -older brothers. _Or just really good friends_ , he mused, and stopped trying to compartmentalize them into boxes. Whatever they were, right now Sandburg and Ellison were comforting and reassuring.

"We're very close to the motel; would you like to stop in and see the room, before we go over to the loft?" Blair asked.

"I would," Joe answered quickly. "Like Frank said, we don't want to stay there, but maybe there's something – some clue – we could pick up, that you guys might have missed. Something that might help us locate Dad."

Sandburg's mouth quirked slightly; evidently something amused him, but he nodded and flipped on the turn signal to take an exit ramp. In moments they were pulling into the parking lot of the modest motel, and only minutes later were being allowed access to the room in question.

The Hardys stared around the room as if to wrest information from it by sheer force. "Is this the way it was when you found it?" Frank asked.

Ellison shook his head. "There were clothes pulled out of the dresser drawers lying on the floor, and some blank paper torn from a legal notepad," he said. "After we went over the room for clues we put them back. And I put his briefcase in the closet. It was empty, except for a pen and the notepad."

"Dad wouldn't throw his clothes on the floor," Joe stated emphatically. "He's like Frank – a real neat-nik."

"We figured as much," Blair concurred. "It didn't seem in character. That's one reason we think he was taken from here by someone – and very likely against his will. And they took whatever information he had, as well."

"Fingerprints?" Frank inquired.

"Ones we think were your father's," Jim replied, "and probably motel staff."

Joe opened the dresser and gazed down at the neatly folded articles of clothing for a few seconds. Chewing his lower lip, he shut the drawer again and sighed. Frank had ducked into the bathroom, but now returned, shaking his head.

"Nothing unusual," he said glumly.

"Let's head over to the loft," Blair encouraged softly. "You guys need to relax and unwind for a little while."

"And then we can decide where to start looking for your father," Jim added.

Silently, the boys followed the two Cascade detectives from the empty motel room.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

 **Missing Persons**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 4

Mid-afternoon found the Hardys enjoying a quiet interlude at the spacious loft on Prospect. Sandburg and Ellison had fed them a lunch of sandwiches and fruit upon arrival, and then Blair had started preparations for what he promised would be a supper they'd never forget.

"Ostrich chili!" he announced triumphantly, appearing not to notice the dubious looks the Hardy brothers exchanged. "It's great, trust me! But it does have to simmer quite awhile, so I'm going to start it now."

Jim chuckled, evidently understanding Frank and Joe's reluctance regarding the proposed dinner menu. "It really is good," he encouraged them. "In fact, Joel – you remember Captain Taggart? – almost ate himself sick on it, he likes it so well. So don't worry."

"I'm too wiped out to worry about ostrich chili," Frank admitted unwillingly, trying to stifle a yawn and failing. "I know we need to start going over what you guys found, if anything, and the case notes we brought, but..." He broke off, yawning again. "'Scuse me."

'Hey." Jim rested a hand on the dark-haired Hardy's shoulder. "Why don't you catch a few Zs? We've got time to do all that a little later, and you aren't in any shape for a sensible discussion right now; you're too tired."

"Use the bed in my room," Blair concurred. "Just kick off your shoes and flop on top of the spread, if you want. Nap as long as you need to."

Frank looked longingly in the indicated direction, then glanced back at his brother. "You okay with that?"

"Sure." Joe waved him on. "Go ahead. I'm good."

"Well...okay, I guess." Without further dissembling, Frank followed the suggestion. He disappeared into Blair's room, shutting the French doors behind him.

Jim's sensitive hearing caught the sounds of shoes being removed, and then a heavy sigh as Frank lay down – followed by steady, even breathing that indicated almost immediate sleep. He turned to Blair and Joe, smiling. "Bet he's out like a light. Well...although it hurts me to admit it, I think it's my turn to do laundry. Hope you have all your dirty clothes in the bathroom hamper, Chief, because I'm sure not going in your room to get anything now!"

Blair laughed as he meticulously chopped onions. "Go ahead; everything's in." Ellison nodded and quietly ascended the stairs to his bedroom to gather more items. A few minutes later he left the apartment carrying two large baskets of clothes stacked on top of each other.

"Washer and dryer are in the basement," Blair explained to Joe, who nodded. The younger Hardy was drifting about the apartment, seemingly unable to settle down anywhere. He wandered over to the kitchen and watched as Blair continued to work, cutting onions, then cloves of garlic.

"Want to help?" Sandburg smiled, nodding to a fat green pepper which waited on the counter. "That needs to be chopped up."

"Uh...you know, I think I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you," Joe muttered, embarrassed at his own churlishness. Although he'd seen Sandburg and Ellison working together in that kitchen, and _they_ seemed to manage it with surprising ease and grace, it seemed awfully small to him for two people. He was used to the spaciousness of their kitchen at home.

Blair seemed unfazed. "No problem," he said cheerfully, and attacked the pepper. Joe drifted back to the living room and stood in front of the bookshelves, idly toying with the objects thereon. Candlesticks...a squatty little statuette...He squatted down and began inspecting the multitudes of CDs, then stood again and restlessly roamed over to the balcony doors. He stared out at the sunshiny afternoon.

A whisper cut through the quiet serenity of the loft, barely audible to Blair in the kitchen. "It just never gets any easier."

Sandburg stilled, setting his paring knife down silently. He hoped Joe would feel free to speak, and although he wanted the boy to understand that if he wished to talk, Blair would be glad to listen and try to help, he wasn't going to leap in. It was going to have to be Joe's choice. He waited, trying to exude calmness and serenity. He'd had a lot of practice at it over the years with his partner.

Joe turned his head and saw Blair standing quietly and gazing at him, evidently waiting for him to continue if he so wished, but not pushing. The younger Hardy smiled a little sheepishly. "Sorry...I guess that sounded a little...over-dramatic, huh?"

Blair shook his head gently. "Nope."

Joe sighed. He hadn't intended to confide in Sandburg – he thought highly of the man, and respected him, and liked him, and consequently wanted to impress him, but still, Blair was a relative stranger, and Joe wasn't much on sharing his innermost feelings in any case. But there was no impatience or ridicule on Sandburg's face, merely an attentive concentration and a desire to help. Blair wasn't likely to belittle him, or dismiss his fears, Joe realized, and the urge to do _something_...to confide, to share his worries and concerns, was too strong to be ignored.

Joe found words spilling out of his mouth, almost of their own volition: "I mean, you know, you would think it should get easier. We've lived with this – feeling, fear, whatever – all our lives. We've known for a long time that Dad's job is dangerous." He paused and a reluctant grin spread across his face as he considered the fact that it wasn't merely _Fenton's_ job that was dangerous any more; he and Frank had garnered their full share of attention from the criminal element in the past few years, and gotten into a pretty appalling number of scrapes. "Heck, we've known that from our own personal experiences!"

Blair nodded encouragingly. When Joe didn't immediately resume speaking he began quietly tidying up the kitchen. Chili preparations were going to have to wait for a bit. Exit the _sous-chef_ and enter the Shaman of the Great City; Joe needed someone to listen and...just maybe...counsel.

Joe returned to staring out the glass doors at the bright glint of the Sound in the distance. He was fiddling nervously again, this time fussing with the cord to the blinds. He dropped it and returned to the shelves of CDs, absently taking out one and looking at it, then thrusting it back and removing another. In his distraction, he fumbled one jewel case, nearly dropping it on the floor.

Managing to catch it, Joe glanced guiltily at Sandburg, jolted out of his introspection. "Sorry."

"Not a problem." Blair smiled. "You seem a little twitchy, pal. There's a ratty little park just down the block, remember? Not much, but there's a basketball court of sorts. Feel like shooting some hoops?"

For the first time, a genuine smile lit Joe's face. "That would be great! But don't you have to fix your chili?"

"It can wait a little while." Blair went to the storage closet and retrieved a basketball. "Lucky thing we both changed into shorts earlier, huh?" He grabbed two small bottles of water from the fridge, slid his keys into his shorts pocket and scribbled a brief note to Jim to explain their absence. "C'mon, let's go."

###

Their game of one-on-one was fairly one-sided. Blair was no slouch at basketball, and his skills had been honed by playing against Jim – and a couple of times, practicing with the Jags! – for the last several years, but Joe was currently like a man possessed on the court. He was pouring all his energies – all his anger, frustration, fears – into the game, and Blair was merely there to give him someone to dart around or shoot over.

They stopped to catch their breath and drink some water after the magic score of 21 was reached, Joe began shooting again – but now his movements were more relaxed, almost lazy. Blair moved beneath the basket to rebound for him.

"You're very good," Sandburg commented. "I'm not surprised; you and Frank are both athletic, but – you're VERY good."

"Thanks. We both played in high school. And we've been playing driveway or park basketball since I was a little kid. Dad taught us to play," Joe replied. "When we first started, we'd play one on one-and-a-half." He laughed softly, glancing at Blair, who returned his smile. "I was the half."

Sandburg chuckled appreciatively.

"I was maybe five or so...never figured out the point of the game then, but I sure enjoyed running around the court. Frank was probably close to seven then, and he was tall for his age. He actually knew what he was doing. Looking back now, I imagine I was in Dad's and his way more than anything else. But they never complained." He backed up and put up a three-point shot that swished sweetly through the net. Blair clicked his tongue admiringly and tossed in a lay-up before passing back to Joe.

"I remember...when Frank would start to get that funny little frown on his face that means he's getting annoyed," Joe continued, "I remember Dad would put the ball in my hands, pick me up, and run to the basket so we could score." He laughed, and so did Blair. "That'd keep me happy long enough that I'd go off to the side and do...whatever five year olds do, and then Frank and Dad could actually play for awhile. Sometimes I just ran around and around the edge of the court...I remember that."

"Sounds like your dad's a smart man." Blair retrieved a missed shot, pivoted and banked one off the glass.

"He is. Frank's just like him." There was no envy in Joe's voice, only pride. He stopped abruptly, clutching the basketball. "This is all wrong, Blair! This wasn't supposed to happen! This was a routine missing persons case. And damn it, he'd FOUND her! There wasn't even the slightest hint of any danger!"

"I know."

"It's all wrong," Joe repeated miserably. "Dad's disappearance means that he's stumbled onto something – and it's probably something pretty big. Or...or, I suppose one of his enemies could have tracked him here, but...I mean, he's disappeared before, but then, we usually knew he might be heading into danger. This time it came out of nowhere! We don't have any idea what it is he's discovered, or how to find him. All we have is partial case notes that he left at home – and you guys!"

Sandburg grinned; he couldn't help it. "Don't be too quick to discount our help, Joe," he teased gently.

"No, no, I didn't mean that!" Joe replied, chagrined. "You guys are the best; you're awesome; I know that. We're lucky we've got you. I just meant—"

"I know what you meant. But don't give up on your dad just yet, and don't give up on us – especially on Jim. He's a very talented investigator; there's none better. And he's learned some...um...rather unconventional...uh...methods, both from his time in the service and when he was in Peru with the Chopec tribe. Or did you know about that?"

Joe nodded. "Daryl told Frank, and Frank told me. And I saw it in action when we were looking for you guys in Bayport." He sighed. "I agree, he's amazing. If anyone can follow a trail that doesn't seem to exist, it's Jim. And you're not so bad yourself," he added, smiling, and tossed Blair the basketball again.

###

Jim Ellison had brought a basket of clean laundry upstairs to his apartment and found Blair's note. After checking quietly to make sure Frank was still sound asleep, he donned shorts and a tank top and made his way to the park. While still some distance from the basketball court he jacked up his hearing carefully, sorting out Blair's and Joe's voices from the cacophony of other sounds impinging on his senses. He wanted to get an idea of the tenor of their conversation.

" _...he's amazing. If anyone can follow a trail that doesn't seem to exist, it's Jim. And you're not so bad yourself."_

The Sentinel smiled a little; sometimes the old saying about not eavesdropping because you'll hear bad things about yourself didn't hold true. He appreciated and was touched by Joe's implicit faith in him, although it was a bit daunting to realize he had to live up to the boy's expectations! And he was glad that Joe also was aware of Blair's talents and abilities.

He'd been half afraid that Blair might 'talk' Joe to death, given half the chance, but his best friend's instincts had apparently served him well – as they almost always did. Blair had the innate ability to offer comfort and advice and cheer people up with his off-the-wall tales of 'far-away places with strange-sounding names,' and if he hadn't had to resort to tribal tales to make Joe feel better...well that was okay, too!

Jim moved closer, catching the attention of the two on the court. "Looks like you've run Sandburg ragged," he noted. "Want to try it against someone closer to your size?" He grinned as he issued the challenge.

"Hey!" Blair protested automatically. "Quit picking on the short guy!" He whapped Jim lightly and ducked the return gentle swat aimed at his head. "Actually, I need to get back to working on dinner." He patted Joe's shoulder. "Thanks for the game, Joe."

"Thank you," Joe replied with a grateful look. "Sure, Detective Ellison, why not?"

"It's Jim," Ellison reminded him, and swatted the ball out of his hands with the swiftness of a striking snake.

Blair watched for a few moments and then returned to the loft and his chili preparations, knowing that for all his encouraging words about Jim's abilities, they were still faced with a very large problem.

#####

Jim and Joe returned from the park flushed and sweaty and exhilarated by their game, which Jim had apparently squeaked out by a last-ditch long shot. Joe looked much more relaxed, and headed for the shower while Jim went down to the basement to collect another load of clean laundry. When he returned, he took his own turn in the bathroom, and then joined Sandburg in the kitchen to make a lettuce salad. Joe, still feeling slightly unsure about his presence in that crowded space, offered to set the table if Jim would hand him the things. Smiling quietly, Ellison complied.

Frank emerged from Blair's room about the time the chili was being dished up, looking much refreshed, and the four men settled around the supper table. To the Hardys' surprise, the ostrich chili was delicious, and accompanied by buttered French bread and Jim's salad, filled them comfortably. They didn't talk of the case during dinner, but kept the conversation on other things.

"Is Daryl in town?" Frank asked. "It's been awhile since we've heard from him."

Blair was shaking his head. "No, he's not here right now. After he finished the year at Duke, Joan – that's his mom – offered to take him to the Caribbean for a vacation. So he's currently on the island of St. Croix – lucky kid!"

Joe whistled. "Sweet! Why didn't anyone offer to take YOU to St. Croix?" he demanded of Frank, who grinned and shrugged. "For that matter, why didn't anyone offer to take ME there for a graduation present? I'll have to e-mail him and ask how he wangled it."

Jim rubbed his jaw reflectively. "He wangled it by having competitive divorced parents," he pointed out.

"True." Joe took another slice of bread and chewed it thoughtfully. Maybe he didn't want a vacation in St. Croix, if that's what it took.

After dinner they settled in the living room, finally ready for serious work. Frank and Joe got out the meager file they had brought, and the Cascade police officers offered what few clues they had garnered.

"So that's who he was looking for." Ellison gazed thoughtfully at the photo of Bobbi Van Lansing. "Actually, he'd found her – found her hotel, anyway, only she wasn't there when he was."

Frank picked up a piece of paper. "The Silver Reef," he read. "That's where she is staying. At least that's what Dad told me on the phone. He said it was nicer than his motel!"

"Hey, we didn't know that; that's a great place to start!" Blair said approvingly. He reached for the telephone book to look up the address.

Jim consulted the file folder he'd brought home from work. "I'm pretty sure 'L. Twrs' is the Lincolnshire Towers," he said. "There were only a couple of possibilities as far as building names go, and we didn't find any matches with personal names."

"What's Lincolnshire Towers?" Joe asked.

"Office high-rise," Blair told him. "And...ta-da!" He waved another piece of paper in the air in triumph. "After Jim pinned down Lincolnshire Towers, I found a match for the telephone number...or rather, I located a number that matched after I tried altering the number we found."

Ellison shifted, looking uncomfortable. "I thought we had it right," he said defensively.

"Jim, man, those numbers were seriously scribbled," his partner reassured him. "Anyone could have missed it."

"What was it?" Frank asked curiously. "I mean, how did...?"

"Whoever wrote it makes their fours and their nines almost the same way," Blair explained. "When I tried using four instead of nine, I got a number of someone who actually has an office in Lincolnshire Towers."

Both boys perked up at this encouraging news. "Who is it?"

"Businessman by the name of John Sartellis. Nothing popped up on him, but I figure we might have a little chat with him, just in case."

"We tried him at the office number but he wasn't in," Jim added. "His home phone's in the book, but when I called there, all I got was an answering machine. So evidently Mr. Sartellis has gone out for the evening."

"We'll try him again tomorrow," Blair said.

Now it was Joe's turn to yawn. He flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry...jet lag, I guess."

"I think that your body just realized it's been up almost 24 hours straight," Sandburg commented. "What time did you have to get up to catch your plane? It's after midnight by your internal clock, and you didn't have a nap like Frank did."

"There isn't anything more we can do...?" Frank fretted. "I feel so useless. We flew out here to find Dad, and all we've done is sit around and let you feed us and entertain us, and—"

"Hey." Jim held up a hand to stem the flow of words. "We've got more than we did before. We've got a name, a picture, a hotel, another name, a location...we're getting there. We'll find him."

Frank nodded reluctantly. Joe stifled another yawn.

"C'mon, let's get you two situated for sleeping." Blair got to his feet. "If one of you takes my bed and the other the couch—"

"Where'll you sleep?" Joe cut in.

Blair grinned. "There's a lot of room on the floor of Jim's bedroom, and I've got a sleeping bag and two foam camping pads up there already. We're all set."

"Jeez, Blair, we ought to be the ones sleeping on the floor, not you!" Frank protested.

"As H would say, don't sweat it, my man. I don't mind at all – so long as Jim doesn't step on me when he gets up in the morning."

Fifteen minutes later, as the two detectives mounted the stairs to the loft bedroom, only Jim heard his Guide's whisper:

"It's been too long since you practiced that reading with your fingertips, O Sentinel mine. You ought to have caught that phone number, ya know."

"Don't push it, Chief, unless you want to find yourself sleeping on the balcony instead of the floor."

Blair chuckled very softly, unalarmed by this threat. "I've got some tests in mind that we probably ought to run..."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

 **Missing Persons**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story by EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 5

Joe was awakened by the sounds of people moving about nearby – people who were endeavoring to be quiet but not succeeding very well – and softly whispered conversation. For a moment he was disoriented and confused. Where was he, anyway? He blinked his eyes open and discovered that his head was covered with a blanket, apparently tugged there at some earlier point to shield himself from the early-morning light.

Recollection hit: he was in Cascade, at Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg's apartment, and the soft noises he was hearing were probably the two police officers. Cautiously, he inched the blanket down and lifted his head. As he had suspected, Jim and Blair were in the kitchen. He looked at his wristwatch: 7:40.

"Morning," he rasped.

Sandburg turned, smiling a greeting. "Good morning. Sleep okay?"

"Yeah...'m good." Joe rubbed his face. "Tireder than I thought."

"Sorry if we woke you," Blair went on, but it was obvious that if Joe was awake it would make preparing breakfast easier, since they wouldn't have to try to be so quiet.

"It's okay...needed to get up anyway." Joe shoved back the blanket and got up. Locating his duffel bag he extricated clean clothes. "Okay for me to shower now?"

Jim grunted something vaguely affirmative, concentrating on measuring coffee into the machine, then growled: "Sandburg, we're almost out of this blend. There any of the Kivu around?"

Correctly assuming that Jim Ellison wasn't much of a conversationalist before he had his morning coffee, Joe headed for the bathroom.

By the time he returned to the main room, breakfast seemed to be well underway; the fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee and bacon filled the loft, and Blair was setting things on the table with the ease of long practice. Jim was sitting on the couch, cup in hand, scanning the pages of the newspaper, which was spread out on the coffee table in front of him.

"Frank not up yet?" Joe stuffed his sleepwear into his bag. "This is a first – me up ahead of him!"

"He's up now." The French doors opened and Frank appeared, looking tousled but alert. "Do I smell coffee?"

Jim glanced up and grinned. "You're in Washington state; of course you smell coffee."

Over breakfast they discussed plans for the day: Ellison and Sandburg intended to try again to contact John Sartellis at his home. Somewhat hesitantly, Frank proposed that he and Joe go to the Silver Reef Hotel and see if they could locate the elusive Bobbi Van Lansing.

"Maybe she won't be so skittish with us," Joe opined. He assumed his best innocent expression. "After all, we're these two nice, non-threatening kids—"

"Who just happen to be searching for our father," Frank chimed in, his voice saccharine-sweet.

The two Cascade police officers began to laugh. "You sound like characters in a 1930's novel," Sandburg spluttered.

They beamed contentedly. "Good," Joe said. "We do try."

Frank's expression darkened. "If she doesn't cooperate..."

"Keep in mind she might not even be there," Ellison put in. "She's been absent more than present."

"Then we hang around and wait for her," Joe replied. "Now the only problem is getting there!"

"Taxi, I guess," his brother sighed.

Blair caught his partner's eye. "We're taking your truck, I assume?" he asked softly. At Jim's affirmative nod, he went on, addressing the Hardys: "If you want, you can borrow my car."

"Better look that gift horse in the mouth," Ellison hissed, _sotto voce_.

Blair glared at him. "You are so not funny. You know perfectly well that it runs fine now!"

Jim grinned unrepentantly. "Gotcha."

"That'd be great," Frank interjected before Sandburg could come up with appropriate retaliation. "We'll be careful with it, I promise."

"In Cascade," Blair said gloomily, "never promise anything about being careful with cars. You're just asking for some dire fate to befall you out of a clear blue sky!"

#####

Although John Sartellis was quite surprised to receive a visit from two police detectives on a Sunday morning, he greeted them courteously enough, and invited them in. After assuring him that their visit was, for the most part, unofficial... _yet_... Ellison broached the question of why the businessman's telephone number and office building might have been found written in the motel room of a vanished private investigator.

Sartellis looked taken aback. "I honestly don't know, Detective," he answered. "I don't know anything about any private investigators. If someone's looking for me, I'm not hard to find. And I'm afraid I've never even heard of anyone named Fenton Hardy."

"He's from back east," Sandburg commented quietly. "Have you ever been acquainted with, or heard of a young woman named Roberta Van Lansing?"

"Not that I recall."

Knowing Blair would be taking notes and keeping the man's attention fixed on him, Jim was free to let his senses scan over Sartellis, seeking any hints of deception. There were none; the businessman was telling the truth, so far as Sentinel probing could tell. He tried a question of his own. "Can you think of anyone who might have written your building name and telephone number there, in Mr. Hardy's motel room? We believe it was someone other than Mr. Hardy."

John Sartellis thought about it for a few moments, frowning. Finally he looked up and said slowly, "I have a cousin in town. He recently came out from New York to ask me to invest some money in stocks he brokers. I suppose it's possible he might have done so, although why he'd be in contact with Hardy I don't know..."

Ellison automatically noted the elevated _kick-thump_ of his partner's heartbeat as Blair assimilated this new piece of information. "His name?"

"Darius Sutherland."

"Do you have a number where we could reach Mr. Sutherland, or an address?"

Sartellis nodded. "I believe he is staying at the Silver Reef."

Jim managed to keep his face bland, but he heard Blair's quick intake of breath as Sartellis' comment registered.

"You've been in contact with your cousin recently? Has he been to your office in Lincolnshire Tower?"

"Yes, of course. As I said, he's been after me to invest in his business dealings."

"And are you going to?"

"I haven't decided yet. He's asking me to risk a fairly sizeable amount."

"Understandable," Jim nodded. He rose smoothly, tucking his notebook into a pocket. "Thank you, Mr. Sartellis. We won't take up any more of your time today. If we have any further questions, we'll come back another time." Blair got up too, murmuring his own thanks and goodbyes.

"Detective?"

"Yes?" Jim turned back, eyebrow raised.

"I loaned Darius a key to the building, so that he would have a place to work from while he is here in Cascade. You know, access to copy machines, fax, all that. He has access to my office and other places in Lincolnshire Tower. Just thought you might want to know."

#####

"Is Miss Van Lansing in?" Frank used his most ingratiating smile on the desk clerk at the Silver Reef.

The clerk didn't seem impressed. "I'll dial her room number and see," he offered, and scowled darkly at Joe when that young man craned his neck in an attempt to watch him dial the number. Joe settled back, irked, and they waited while the clerk made the call. After a minute or so the clerk hung up. "Sorry, no answer."

"Can we leave a message?" Frank was still trying to be polite.

"Sure." A message pad was pushed across the desk, along with a pen.

"Well," Joe fumed, when they were outside the lobby again, "wasn't that just a lovely little exercise in futility!"

"It was better than nothing," Frank replied, although he sounded disheartened as well. "At least she's still registered there. What if she'd left? We'd have no idea where to look for her!"

"I suppose," Joe conceded. He leaned against the side of Blair's Volvo. "So, now what? Stake it out and hope she shows up before we die of boredom or starvation?"

"You can't be hungry. Blair and Jim fed us enough breakfast to fuel stevedores!"

"True, but I could die of boredom," Joe grinned. Suddenly he straightened up. "LOOK!" he hissed. "Isn't that her?" He pointed to a woman just alighting from a car at the hotel entrance. The man driving it pulled around the building after she got out.

"Yeah! Let's go!"

They hurried back into the lobby, pursuing the striking auburn-haired young woman.

"Miss Van Lansing? Miss Van Lansing!" Joe increased his speed fractionally and caught up with her just as she reached the elevators.

"Yes?" She turned, and the Hardys were struck anew by her attractive face and figure, by her air of poised sophistication. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"I'm Frank Hardy," Frank took charge. "This is my brother, Joe. We're looking for our father."

She smiled questioningly. "And you think I could help you...because?"

"Sorry, I didn't make myself clear. Our father, Fenton Hardy, is a private investigator. He's been looking for you. Your family hired him to find you. And he's disappeared."

She blinked, looking momentarily confused and wary. Then she shook her head, tossing back that mane of auburn hair. "Sorry, but I've never met the man, or heard of him. If he was hired to find me, he isn't doing a very good job, now, is he?" She smiled sweetly at them and pressed the call button for the elevator. The doors slid silently open at her touch. "Goodbye."

"But—" Joe lunged at the door as it smoothly closed. "Damn it!" he snapped, missing. "DAMN it!" he swore again. "What a bi—"

"She's lying," Frank said with certainty. "I'd swear it."

"Of course she is!" Joe blew through his teeth in frustration. Suddenly he whirled about and headed for the front desk. Frank followed, regarding him questioningly. Reaching his destination, Joe leaned over the desk and spoke to the clerk. "All right, we spoke to Ms. Van Lansing. Now I have a question for you. Did a man come to see her on Thursday or Friday? A man named Hardy? Did he leave any messages?"

The clerk blinked uncertainly at the furious blonde youth addressing him. "Um, well...uh..."

"Check. The. Message. Log." Joe gritted. "Now." Frank leaned against the desk, smiling blandly.

The flustered clerk hastily leafed through the carbon copies of messages taken. "Uh – yeah. Yeah, he did. Thursday afternoon and Friday morning. None after that."

"Did Ms. Van Lansing receive the messages?"

"Well...I assume so," the man replied. "They were picked up."

"Thank you." Joe's bared teeth _could_ have been a smile...if one had a good imagination. Without another word he turned and strode out of the building. With an equally insincere smile, Frank followed him, leaving the slack-jawed clerk staring after them.

"Now what?" the elder Hardy asked, when they were once more seated in Sandburg's car with the windows rolled down to let in the sweet summer air.

"What do you think?"

Frank's grin was a carbon copy of Joe's bared-teeth smile. "We know she knew about Dad. We know she's lying. So we wait. And watch. And maybe she'll lead us somewhere interesting."

"You got it, brother."

###

Several hours of watching later, both brothers were hungry, bored and frustrated. There had been no sign of Bobbi Van Lansing. The car she had arrived in, complete with driver, had parked briefly in the lot, and they had eyed it with interest, but the man stayed for possibly fifteen minutes, then pulled out again and drove away. That prompted a discussion.

"Maybe we ought to follow him."

"And what if he's just going to get a hamburger and while we're chasing him around, Bobbi leaves and we miss it?"

They stayed, unwilling to give up the stronger lead for the possibility of nothing better.

###

"Joe, do you think that she might have something to do with Dad's disappearance? Or not?"

"If she hadn't lied to us, I'd say not. But since she did, well...I don't trust her any farther than I could throw her."

"She didn't look all that heavy. You can throw pretty far..."

"Don't push it, Frank."

They waited.

###

Morning became afternoon, became late afternoon...and at long last their patience was rewarded. The car, with the same dark-haired man driving, returned, and after a few minutes' wait, Bobbi Van Lansing exited the Silver Reef and got in. They pulled out into the light traffic.

Frank had started the Volvo's engine as soon as the other car reappeared. He swung into traffic behind their quarry, carefully placing two cars in between them. "Can you keep an eye on them?" he inquired of his brother, who had whipped small binoculars from his pocket and had them trained on the car containing Bobbi.

"So far, yeah." Joe grinned tightly. "I love pursuits!"

"Anything to keep you happy, little brother."

But when the car pulled up in front of an elegant high-rise office building in downtown Cascade, both boys drew in breaths of mingled recognition and excitement. The discreet sign on the building announced it as The Lincolnshire Tower. They parked and watched closely as Bobbi got out and was admitted to the edifice by her driver, who followed her inside and relocked the door.

"Do you suppose...any chance at all...?" "That Dad's there?"

Frank chewed his lip in thought. "How the heck did we manage to leave without our cell phones? They're back at Jim and Blair's place. If we had one, we could call and ask them for some advice. Maybe they'd come and get us into the building."

Joe sighed. "We can look for a pay phone...not that they exist anymore, much."

"I don't know about you, but I don't have their numbers memorized; they're in the phones! Let's..." Frank, who seldom dithered, was dithering now. "Let's...oh hell, let's assume she's going to be there for awhile. We wasted hours sitting in the hotel parking lot. Let's run back to the loft and see what Jim and Blair say, and then come back. And we can pick up our cell phones!" he added grimly.

Joe blew out a frustrated breath, but nodded agreement. "Okay, but you'd better be right."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

 **Missing Persons**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 6

When the Hardys pulled into Blair's parking space outside the loft, they saw with relief that Jim Ellison's pickup truck was parked nearby. Not possessing keys to the apartment, they had wondered just how they were going to get in, if the two police officers had not yet returned home. They wanted to share their news of Bobbi Van Lansing being admitted to Lincolnshire Tower, of her perfidy in denying that she'd heard of or from Fenton, of the mysterious car and driver. Joe had noted down the license plate, but he suspected it was a rental vehicle. They wanted their phones. And they wanted a little advice – not that they were going to necessarily follow it, if it didn't fit with their plans. But they wanted to ask, nonetheless.

They rode the elevator up to the third floor and walked down the hall. To their surprise, Jim opened the door just as they reached it.

"Whoa, how'd you do that?" Joe asked curiously.

The detective just smiled enigmatically. "The windows are open. I heard that rattletrap of Sandburg's pull up!"

"Hey!" came the expected indignant cry from within the apartment. "Don't diss my car, Ellison!"

Ellison's smile widened as he ushered the Hardys inside. "Face it, Chief, that car and I are gonna be at odds as long as you've got it." He eyed Frank and Joe speculatively. "You two look like something's going on. Care to share?"

"You've been hanging around me too long," Blair commented, joining them. "You never used to say things like 'care to share.'" He performed his own searching look at the Hardys. "But you're right. What's up?"

Frank told the tale of their experiences, concluding: "We figured we'd go back and keep watching the building, once we picked up our cell phones. We were stupid to go off and leave 'em here! I guess we weren't thinking very clearly this morning."

"And maybe we could borrow a key?" Joe put in. "Or are you guys gonna be home tonight?"

Jim was shaking his head. "No, we're going right back out. We were going to split up, if you two weren't back yet, so that you wouldn't be locked out – but really, both Sandburg and I need to go. We'll give you a spare key." He dug in a drawer and produced a key, which he handed to Frank.

Blair was looking very concerned. "You sure staking out the place is a good idea?" he asked. "I mean, two kids like you..."

"We've done our share of stakeouts," Frank said grimly. "We're not inexperienced, Blair. And this is the only lead we have to Dad at all. After all, we flew out here to find him, and that's what we intend to do."

"More of a lead than you might realize," Blair replied, and told of their meeting with John Sartellis. "With both of them staying at the Silver Reef, I'm beginning to wonder if Cousin Darius might have some connection with Bobbi, and by extrapolation, with your dad's disappearance."

"A connection I really wish we had time to pursue," Jim put in, "but Sandburg and I have a dead body demanding attention and a boss demanding an immediate solution." He looked keenly at each of the Hardys in turn. "I am sorry, really. If this hadn't come up right now you know we'd be glad to help."

"Hey, we understand that duty calls," Joe said lightly, "and I can definitely appreciate that you don't want to irritate Captain Banks!"

"You two gonna be all right?" Blair's look was as sharp as his partner's. "You SURE you'll be all right? You won't take any unnecessary chances, right? And you'll call us if—"

"Yes, Blair." Frank was grinning now. "We promise, Blair. We'll be fine, Blair. Don't worry, Blair. Everything will be cool, Bl—"

Now Joe and Jim were laughing too.

"All right, all right, 'shut up, Blair'; I get it. Grab something to eat before you go. I made sandwiches." Even distracted and busy, Sandburg was a nurturer. He waved at the kitchen counter, where ingredients were still spread out, along with a platter of inviting-looking sandwiches. "We just ate. Jim, you ready to go?"

Ellison was already opening the loft door, but he turned back to say seriously, "Kids...be careful. Like Sandburg said, don't take any unnecessary chances. And we'll see you late tonight or tomorrow."

They waved cheerfully as the two detectives departed, and then Joe set to work packing up Blair's sandwiches while Frank gathered everything else they thought they might need to take along.

#####

Fenton Hardy was exasperated. He was also uncomfortable and stiff, but the physical discomforts were overshadowed by the irritation he was feeling. He'd been kidnapped and captured before, by professionals and amateurs alike – but this had to be one of the oddest situations he'd ever found himself in. To be trying to locate a missing person – not an escaped felon, not a wanted suspect, just a _person_ – only to find himself the prisoner of said missing person and her friends...well, that was humiliating in itself. And from what he'd managed to overhear, apparently now that they had him, they didn't know exactly what to do with him. _How about letting me go?_ was Fenton's advice on that, but he hadn't been consulted. In fact, he'd been pretty much ignored, while his captors argued over him.

 _At least they've fed me, and given me bathroom breaks_ , he thought, shifting carefully in the chair where he was tied. Bobbi had insisted on that. Left to their own devices, Fenton wasn't sure just what the men might have done. The one guy, addressed as Darius, didn't seem too bad, just awfully nervous and suspicious. The other two, Bruno and Rico, whom he had tentatively identified as 'muscle,' seemed to have no qualms about dealing with him in the most convenient way available to them. Luckily for him, the most convenient method didn't seem to be murder.

Fenton still wasn't quite sure why he'd been taken, other than that Bruno thought he was 'bothering' Bobbi. Apparently that particular thing irritated Bruno. And when Bruno was irritated, he tended to act on impulse. He didn't seem cruel or especially malevolent...just extremely determined.

Another bright spot was the fact that he was no longer blindfolded. Bruno, Darius and Rico all tried to keep their faces hidden from his view – well, to be honest, they stayed away from him most of the time; in fact, other than strictly necessary contact, they all did. Bobbi had evidently realized that Fenton probably knew exactly what she looked like, so it didn't matter whether he saw her or not, but she stayed away too, most of the time.

It was a very puzzling and exasperating situation.

By the date on his wristwatch, Fenton knew he'd been held captive for over 48 hours now. He'd been snatched from his motel room on Friday afternoon, and now it was after 7:00 p.m. on Sunday.

 _I wonder if Ellison and Sandburg got worried when I didn't show up?_ he wondered, not for the first time. _I wonder if they tried to locate me?_ He sighed. It wasn't very promising; they hadn't even met him, after all. If they searched for him, they wouldn't even know what he looked like! _I wonder if they contacted Frank and Joe, after I disappeared? Maybe the boys came...nah, not likely. They've lived with this all their lives, and I've pulled disappearing acts before._ The question was, would they get worried enough to come looking before it was too late!?

#####

"So...how do we want to play this?" Joe asked as he and Frank sat in Blair's parked car. Surveillance of the Lincolnshire Tower was going to be a formidable task; this building was _big_! Equipped with water bottles, cell phones, and a couple of Blair's sandwiches, in addition to the ones they'd eaten at the loft, they were as ready as they were likely to get, but it still looked to be a big job.

"Well," Frank said consideringly, gazing at their target, "there's no way we can watch all the entrances and exits, not by ourselves, just the two of us."

Joe nodded silently and likewise stared somberly at the building.

"It would probably be best if we split up," the older teen continued, "and took opposite sides. Then we could work our way around, going opposite directions, and eventually we'd cover the whole building."

Joe shook his head. "Wouldn't that be a waste of time?" he asked softly. "You already said that we can't watch all the entrances and exits. Why don't we just concentrate on the one where we saw her go in?"

"That's the main entrance, maybe, but we have no clue where in the building she might have gone. Jim and Blair said that John Sartellis has an office here, and that he gave his cousin a key – or keys – but we don't have a clue where that is!"

"Wish we could get inside," Joe complained.

Frank snorted softly. "Well, that's a given."

"Lit windows might help us," the younger boy suggested. "It's Sunday evening, so there probably aren't any custodians on the job now. So if any windows are lit, we'd know there was someone there, right?"

"Maybe," Frank agreed somewhat doubtfully. "It's better than nothing, but it still doesn't get us inside."

"I know," Joe sighed.

"Well, let's split up and scout around first," Frank said, making the decision for them. "First time around is surveillance only, and trying the doors. After that – assuming that we don't find a way in – we can settle in. I'll watch the main doors if you'll cover the parking garage entrance."

Joe nodded. "Suits," he said briefly, and turned to go. Frank shot out a hand and grabbed his arm.

"If you see anything, call me. If I find anything, I'll call you. Call and then wait for the other one. Don't go rushing into anything. Got it?"

Joe rolled his eyes, but nodded again. "Yes, dear."

Frank ignored the jibe. "You got your lock picks? I doubt that they'd work on these doors, but anything's worth a try."

"Yup. You?"

"Um...no. I figured you're better at it than I am, and we didn't need both sets," Frank admitted. "Assuming we don't find anything on the initial sweep, we meet back here and compare notes before we settle in to watch. Okay?"

"All right."

"Oh – and one more thing. Put your phone on 'vibrate' instead of letting it ring. No sense in advertising our presence."

Joe grinned and pulled his phone from his pocket to adjust the setting. "Good thought. No wonder they call you the smart one!" He looked up. "How about text-messaging instead of talking? Even quieter."

"See, I'm not the only smart one!" Frank smiled and patted his shoulder. "Okay, let's do this."

Quietly they got out of the car, locked it behind them and set out across the street towards the Lincolnshire Tower.

###

Half an hour later they met again at the original starting point.

"Anything?" Joe asked quietly.

"I saw a guy standing on the corner smoking a cigarette. I'm not sure if it was the driver of the car we saw before, or not. It's getting too dark to see clearly, and I didn't want to march up close enough to him to make sure. So watch out. He's close to the parking garage entrance and he might spot you."

"Okay. So, we split now and settle into position?" Joe fished in the capacious pocket of his cargo shorts, worn specifically for their storage abilities. "Want a sandwich?"

Frank accepted the packet with a nod of thanks. "Keep in touch, little brother," he murmured. "Check in with me in an hour if you don't see anything sooner, okay?"

"Got it. Good hunting, Mowgli," Joe whispered in reply and melted away into the shadows, leaving his brother chuckling in spite of his underlying worry.

###

Joe moved again, slipping from behind one massive pillar to another in the underground parking facility. He wished there were more cars around to conceal his movements, but on a Sunday evening the place was essentially deserted. There was enough ambient noise from traffic outside to mask sounds, which was good in one way – he didn't have to worry about trying to stay absolutely silent – and bad in another, for he couldn't hear if anyone _else_ might be around, either!

He and Frank had shared one check-in time, and now were into the second hour. So far, neither one had spotted the slightest sign of Bobbi Van Lansing, the driver of the car she had ridden in, or anyone else.

 _Maybe this is just one damn exercise in futility_ , the younger Hardy mused. _For all we know, if these guys have Dad, they've got him stashed somewhere else entirely, and we're wasting our time._

He moved again, taking advantage of a police or fire engine siren outside to muffle the sounds. Unfortunately, it also muffled the sounds of the shadowy figure which approached him from behind.

Joe never saw or heard his assailant, and he dropped like a rock when the blackjack connected with the back of his head.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

 **Missing Persons**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 7

Bruno Muscaletti hummed happily to himself as he made his way through the massive building known as Lincolnshire Tower. He was looking forward to the warm words of praise he was bound to receive when he showed Darius his prize. He shifted the weight on his shoulder carefully. Even Miss Bobbi would approve, he was sure of that. He hadn't had to dump this one in a car trunk, as he had that pesky private detective that had been trying to find Bobbi. Neither Darius nor Bobbi had seemed to be very happy about that fact – that he'd stuffed the investigator in a car trunk after smacking him over the head. In fact, Miss Bobbi had called it...what was it she'd called it? Ah, yes. Bruno smiled to himself. She'd said it was 'blatantly criminal.'

Bruno's smile turned a little dreamy as he contemplated Darius' beautiful girlfriend. She sure was pretty – and smart, too. Darius was lucky to have found her. And they both would be delighted that he had grabbed this kid who was slinking around and trying to find a way into the Tower; after all, he had heard Bobbi telling Darius about the two boys and how they'd been bothering her, asking questions. Trying to find the detective, apparently.

Darius wanted Miss Bobbi happy, and therefore Bruno wanted her happy, so anything that bothered her, he was pleased to remove. He frowned slightly. Except that she didn't seem awfully happy about him nabbing the detective in the first place. But she'd get over it, he was sure.

Bruno swung open the door and entered the large storage room where Darius and Bobbi were sitting with a broad smile on his face. His grand entrance, however, was spoiled when Bobbi shot to her feet and emitted a horrified shriek:

"BRUNO!"

"Yes, Miss Bobbi?" Confusion filled his voice. "What's wrong?"

"Bruno..." Bobbi fought for composure. Perhaps she was mistaken, and that _wasn't_ another person slung over the bodyguard's shoulder. Or perhaps there was a perfectly logical explanation... "What do you have there?"

"It's one of those kids that was pestering you," Bruno explained, frowning. Wasn't it obvious? "I found him in the parking garage, slinking around, so I guess he must have followed you here. I didn't see the other one, but he's probably around too. I grabbed this one while I had the chance." He carefully eased Joe's limp body to the floor.

"You grabbed him?" Bobbi shouted. "You GRABBED him? Why in heaven's name would you do that, you...you...idiotic Neanderthal?"

Bruno looked from the incensed Bobbi to Darius, surprised to see the grim expression on his old friend's face and not the look of approval he had anticipated. "He was asking questions about you, and pestering you, Miss Bobbi," he reminded her. "Just like that detective guy." Sensing that this answer wasn't sufficient, he ventured, "I thought that's what you wanted. That's what we did last time."

"Last time! Last time was a mistake, you overfed, under-brained buffoon!" Bobbi screamed. She made an inarticulate sound of fury and disbelief, and then whirled on her still-silent boyfriend. "He's worse than a damned cat bringing home mice!" she hurled at Darius.

Darius tried to hide his smile at this accusation; it wouldn't do to let Bobbi realize he found the situation amusing, and he did realize that this was going to cause worse problems for them – but still... But Bobbi was sharp-eyed, and saw it despite his best efforts.

"You think this is FUNNY?" she screamed, focusing her formidable ire on her boyfriend. "Well, tell me what's so funny about having to keep two people tucked away and hidden – and now we've got _two_ counts of kidnapping to face! There's barely enough room for the four of us down here, tomorrow's Monday and the building will be full of people, and we don't dare go back to the hotel, and now Bruno keeps dragging more helpless captives in? Just what are you planning on doing about this, Darius Sutherland? Tell me that!"

Rico, drawn by the sound of raised voices, left the room where he had been guarding Fenton and came in to see what all the ruckus was about. His eyes lit up in pleased appreciation when he saw the crumpled form lying at Bruno's feet. "Hey, you got us another one!"

"ARRRRRGGGGGHHH!" Bobbi clenched her fists and advanced on Darius. "They're YOUR friends," she yelled. "You take care of this!"

Darius thought quickly. "Okay," he announced. "Bobbi, you're right that we can't stay here any longer. We can't risk them being found. Bruno, you probably shouldn't have hit this kid and brought him in, but it's too late now; we're stuck with him." He pulled his wallet from his pocket and extracted a slip of paper and a key. "My cousin John said I could use a vacant rental house of his while I was here, if I needed to. I hadn't thought there'd be any need for it, but I guess it's a good thing after all. We'll go there. Rico, get Mr. Hardy blindfolded again and ready for transport. Bruno, take the kid and go with Rico – go out that back way into the underground parking. My car's there." He once again fished in his pocket and handed Rico a set of car keys with a rental agency tag. "Cuddles, let's get things picked up in here so no one knows we've been here."

Obediently the other two men moved to do as Darius requested; Bobbi silently began gathering up the detritus of their impromptu stay in the basement storage and physical plant areas of Lincolnshire Tower. But the girl's silence didn't last long.

"Darius," she said as she stuffed paper cups into a plastic bag, "why can't you just get rid of those two incompetent morons? You don't need bodyguards; you're a stockbroker! And they are causing more trouble than any of this is worth! I don't see why you brought them along out here anyhow!"

Sutherland sighed. "I know," he admitted. "But Rico and Bruno have been my friends since we were about six years old. They lived on the same block I did. We played together. They stuck up for me when some bigger kids hassled me at school. They grew up thinking that it was their job to look out for me – and now, you, by extension. I don't like it any better than you do, what they've done, and what they saddled us with – but I can't just abandon them, Cuddles; I just can't!"

"You're a big boy now, Dar – you can fight your own battles without those two!" she reminded him.

"Maybe so, honey, but they don't see it that way," he said, and refused to discuss it any further.

#####

Frank patiently waited for Joe to check in again. He was used to this, for Joe, more often than not, was the late arrival at their meetings. He always had a perfectly good excuse for it; it wasn't like he dawdled or forgot about the time – but it was just a bit – well, make that more than a _bit_ – irritating at times. He looked at his watch and frowned. Ten minutes seemed a little excessive, even for Joe. _Hope he didn't run into any trouble!_ He pulled out his cell phone and checked it, just in case he hadn't felt the vibration if Joe had called or text-messaged him. Nothing new. And surely Joe would have called him, if he'd discovered a way in, or clues to their father or Bobbi or the guy who was driving her around. Right?

Fifteen minutes. Frank wasn't irritated any more, he was worried. This wasn't like Joe at all; he took their sleuthing seriously. Pulling out his phone once more, Frank dialed Joe's cell number and waited tensely. _C'mon, Joe, answer! ANSWER, damn it!_ But after a few rings it switched over to voicemail. Clenching his teeth, Frank snapped his phone shut and returned it to his pocket. _Okay, little brother, time to do a little checking up on you in person!_ He set off for the other side of the massive building, wishing that Lincolnshire Tower wasn't quite so big. It was probably going to take him five to ten minutes just to get to where Joe had been positioned!

Joe had had the side where the underground parking garage entrance was located. This offered a whole lot more chance to spot their quarry – and a whole lot more chance to be spotted by someone as well. If it had been any other time than a Sunday evening in summer, Joe could have kept concealed more easily, hidden in the constant comings and goings of a busy downtown office building, but tonight he would have been in constant danger of exposure.

Frank reached the parking entrance and looked around, hoping to spot his brother. "Joe? Joe!" he hissed, and then repeated it, slightly louder: "Joe!"

There was no response to his urgent hail.

Throwing caution to the winds, Frank began searching in earnest, checking every possible spot where Joe might have concealed himself to keep watch and softly calling his brother's name at intervals.

After fifteen fruitless minutes he knew he had a very bad situation on his hands. Joe was absolutely nowhere to be found. Frank leaned against a wall and pulled his phone from his pocket once more. He tried dialing Joe's number, with the same result: voicemail. _Okay, only one thing to do, I guess_. With shaking fingers he dialed another number.

" _Sandburg_." The voice was so clipped and terse that for a moment Frank thought he'd misdialed and gotten Jim Ellison instead.

"Blair? It's Frank – I'm really sorry to bother you, but..." Frank had to stop and swallow the lump that was forming in his throat, and try to steady his voice.

" _Frank? What is it?"_ The curtness was gone; Blair sounded nothing but concerned and reassuring now. _"Is something wrong?"_

"Yeah...you might say that. Blair...Joe's disappeared!"

" _Where are you? Still at the Tower?"_

"Yeah – p-parking garage. But I'll – your car is parked in front; I'll go there—"

" _We're at the precinct. Hang on. We'll be there in ten minutes."_ The connection cut off, leaving Frank listening to dead air space and feeling as if he'd suddenly been caught up in a whirlwind.

###

It was less than ten minutes when Ellison's blue-and-white pickup rounded a corner and nosed into the parking space directly behind the Volvo. Frank was sitting in the driver's seat of the car, his head bent and resting on his fists, which were tightly clenched on the steering wheel.

Jim and Blair both jumped from the truck and approached the car; Jim tapped gently on the window. Frank started, and looked up, then opened the door.

"I'm sorry to pull you off your job—" he began guiltily, "but I didn't know what else to do!" He climbed out of the car, surprised when Ellison wrapped a comforting arm about his shoulders.

"You did the right thing," the big detective said gruffly. "We told you to call if you needed us."

Sandburg nodded agreement, and he patted Frank's arm, offering comfort as well. "Tell us what happened," he requested softly, and then added, "Wait. Let's sit down," and opened the Volvo's doors again. Jim ushered Frank into the back seat and slid in beside him; Blair took the front passenger seat and twisted about to face the other two men. "Now," he resumed, "what happened?"

Haltingly, Frank told them of the surveillance he and Joe had done, of their inability to break into the building – both police officers chuckled grimly at that, and Ellison muttered 'Good thing, too!' – and of the man who had been smoking on the street corner. How he and Joe had contacted each other via text-messages as scheduled, and then Joe had missed the next check-in time.

"Could he have followed someone, seen something, something like that?"

Frank shook his head at Ellison's question. "He would have let me know," he stated firmly. "I know you think we're just kids, and maybe Joe comes off as being careless sometimes, but he – he was taking this seriously. It's our dad, after all...We both know the drill..." His trembling voice trailed off.

"Take it easy," Jim murmured. "I didn't mean to imply Joe was careless or not taking it seriously." He smiled a little. "I've seen him work, remember? When the building went down, in Bayport and we were looking for you and Daryl and Sandburg?"

Frank glanced up briefly and nodded, smiling as well. "Yeah," he said softly. "I guess you do know. So you know that he wouldn't have just gone off without signaling me. And I know it was something that came on him without advance warning, because the same thing applies. He would have at least dialed my number and left the line open, if he didn't have time to talk!"

Jim opened the car door again. "I'm going to take a look," he announced. "Frank, why don't you stay here? We'll be back in just a few. Chief, let's go." He took two steps and turned back. "Lock the doors," he ordered.

Frank didn't have the heart to argue. He locked the car doors and watched dully as the two detectives made their way across the street and disappeared around the side of the large building, then laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes wearily. Why had he and Joe ever thought they could successfully stake out a huge office building by themselves? Why hadn't they gone together to investigate the man standing and smoking on the corner? Why hadn't they simply stayed together in the first place?

Once out of Frank's sight, Jim and Blair slipped automatically into Sentinel-Guide mode: Blair lightly grasping Jim's arm with his left hand while holding his service weapon in his right – just in case. Ellison cocked his head slightly, jacking his hearing up a few notches, and his eyes widened as he scanned for any signs of the missing Joe, or clues to where he had gone. Then his nostrils flared, and he murmured. "Well, he was in here."

"What are you picking up?" Blair kept his voice soft, knowing the Sentinel had his senses wide open.

Ellison grinned tightly. "One of those turkey-tomato-Swiss cheese sandwiches you made, that's what. And it's not you or me; we ate ours hours ago." He sniffed carefully. "And cigarette smoke. Fresh smoke, not stale."

"Can you follow it?" Blair asked excitedly. "Either one?"

"They're together," the Sentinel grunted. "And I'm going to assume Joe wasn't smoking!"

Slowly and carefully they moved across the cement flooring, Ellison concentrating on scent now to the exclusion of his other senses, so much so that Blair had to watch to make sure his partner didn't walk into something – such as a concrete pillar. The trail led them to a door – the door which opened onto the stairs.

"Damn." Blair holstered his revolver, tried the door and growled when it refused to budge. "Locked." He glanced up at Jim. "Got that handy-dandy electronic lock pick thing with you?"

Ellison shook his head. "No." He examined the door carefully. "And I don't know if it would work on this lock anyway. It may be dead-bolted on the other side, for all we know."

"We've got to get into the building, Jim! We know he was taken in there!"

Jim nodded, but shrugged a little. "And how do we convince anyone of that? Tell 'em I smelled him?"

Blair chuckled grimly. "We are so not going there, man."

"We can't get in until tomorrow," Jim pointed out, "And then the scent will be gone, overwhelmed by all the people coming and going. Damn! I wish we hadn't had to leave those kids on their own tonight!"

"We didn't have a choice," Sandburg reminded him. They began to slowly retrace their steps to the car where Frank waited. "We really shouldn't be here now, man; we've got stuff to do..."

"I'm going to tell Simon what's going on," Ellison decided abruptly. "It's getting to the point where we need to take notice of it officially. And once he knows that one of the Hardy kids is missing, as well as their father...well, someone else will probably get switched over to that case we started working tonight. Simon has a real soft spot for those kids."

"As if you don't?" Blair teased gently. "And as if I don't?" he added with a sigh. "Legally, we can't get involved until Joe's been missing longer," he reminded his partner. "And he's 18 now, not a minor any more...although I suppose the kidnapping angle..."

"That won't matter – Simon won't stop us from investigating. Damnit, I feel guilty, Chief; like I let 'em down somehow."

"I know. Me too. But what could we have done differently?"

"Split up and one of us stayed with them?"

"Jim, we were called out on a case. That took priority – and they were good with that, man; they were!" Blair shook the taller man's arm. "They understood; you know they did."

"I know that, buddy, but it doesn't make me feel any less guilty about it."

Blair scowled down at the pavement as he walked. "Jim – one good thing," he observed.

"What's that?"

"No blood."

Frank was watching for their return; he unlocked the doors and got out of the Volvo as the two detectives crossed the street. "Anything?" he demanded eagerly.

"We're pretty sure he was taken out of the parking garage up the stairs," Jim said, carefully omitting just how he had obtained that information. "But the stair door is locked."

Frank sagged back against the car, his face clearly showing his disappointment. "What happens how?" he asked. "Do we just...leave? Oh heck, you've got to get back to work, don't you?"

"I'm going to go back for a little while," Jim conceded, "But Blair's going to stay with you and go back to the loft." He stared meaningfully at his partner, smiling at Sandburg's wide-eyed look of surprise. "And I'll be along shortly. I'm going to have a few words with Simon about this – see if he'll let another team handle our case and pull Sandburg and me off."

"Jim, I...we didn't..." Frank heaved a tired sigh. "You shouldn't do that, and I know it – but I can't say I don't appreciate the offer. I just...I'm running out of ideas, here."

Blair slid into the driver's seat and took the keys Frank handed him. "See you at home, partner," he murmured to Ellison as he waited for Frank to get back in the car.

Jim gripped his shoulder briefly through the open window. "Later, Chief." He strode away towards his truck as Blair started the Volvo.

They had driven perhaps halfway back to the loft, both men maintaining a grim silence, when suddenly Frank groaned and put his hands over his face.

"What's wrong?" Startled, Blair nearly swerved into another lane. "Frank, man, what is it?"

"I just realized..." The words were muffled by Frank's hands. "I'm going to have to..."

"You're going to have to...?" Blair encouraged gently.

"I have to...call...Mom..."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

Thank you so much to mas1581 and Sarai for the comments. Much appreciated!

 **Missing Persons**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 8

Fenton stumbled up the stairs, his arm held tightly by one of his captors – Rico, he thought, although he wasn't positive. He was more than slightly disoriented by the sudden whirlwind of activity which surrounded him; he'd been sitting patiently, tied to the chair, for what had seemed like months...and abruptly things had changed.

Blindfolded, untied from the chair but immediately restrained, his hands bound behind his back, he'd been hustled roughly from the room where he'd been held captive and manhandled along until they reached a vehicle of some sort and he was shoved into what felt like the back seat of a car. Someone buckled a seat belt over him, leaving him helpless, unable to free himself and very uncomfortable with his hands still tied behind him.

After a few minutes there was more noise of people around him, and to his utter shock he felt _another_ person thrust into the back seat beside him, and again heard the click of a seat belt being fastened. He heard someone mutter "He's still out – what'd you hit him with, anyway, a brick?" and wondered who in the world might have been so unlucky as to get himself tangled up with these preposterous people. Ellison? Sandburg? It was possible, he supposed, and he certainly couldn't imagine anyone else.

Moments later car doors slammed shut and an engine started. Fenton settled back as best he could and prepared to wait out the ride. He had no idea where he had been, so it seemed useless to try and figure out the route to where they were going. Might as well just hang tight and try to be prepared for whatever came next.

Now here he was, being escorted into what seemed, to his limited faculties, to be a dwelling of some sort. He felt carpeting beneath his feet as he ascended the stairs, and it _felt_ like a house, although he wouldn't have been able to describe exactly what he meant by that, if asked.

The top of the stairs was reached, and he was turned sharply to the left. _More_ _carpeting_ , he noted, as he felt the edge of a doorway brush his shoulder, and then another one, much sooner than he expected it. A firm shove propelled him forward, and hands gripped his arms and pulled. The investigator found himself down on his knees.

Hands fumbled with the restraints about his wrists, and they were released, but whoever this was kept a tight hold on him, preventing Fenton from any escape attempt. He heard the sounds of something – _someone_? – else being dropped heavily to the floor nearby.

"There, that ought to do it." It was Bruno's voice, sounding slightly out of breath. "Geez, he was heavy enough! You had it easy, you didn't have to carry yours!"

"C'mon," was the answer. "Let's get the door blocked. Oh – leave the light on. Otherwise Miss Bobbi'll probably say we're being blatantly criminal again!"

Fenton felt himself pushed forward again, down on his stomach. "Don't try anything, you're gonna be guarded," Rico growled "We'll bring you something to eat later, and do the bathroom thing," And then they were gone. A door closed, and then came the sounds of something being wedged beneath the doorknob.

The detective was already scrabbling frantically at the blindfold. Pulling it off, he blinked at the sudden glare which assaulted his eyes, and briefly squeezed them shut again, trying to acclimate himself to this new situation.

Gingerly, he opened his eyes and squinted around. Where he was became evident almost immediately: a large walk-in closet with empty hangers on rods, built-in drawers, and several shelves. A couple of folded blankets and pillows were sitting on the shelves, but otherwise the room was empty.

 _Well, a closet is certainly better than that room by the furnace!_ Fenton thought to himself, and then turned to see just who his fellow-prisoner might be. His breath caught in his throat as he beheld the unconscious form of his younger son.

"JOE! My God, Joe!" Mr. Hardy flung himself forward to kneel beside Joe. How in the world had he come to be here? "Son?" He carefully examined Joe, finding a bump on the back of his head similar to the one Fenton himself sported. Other than that, he appeared to be unharmed. "Joe? Wake up, son." Gently, he patted his son's face, and finally was rewarded by a small groan and blinking eyes.

"Ow...oooh, don't!" Joe turned his face away from the irritation.

"Joe? Open your eyes."

Slowly, the boy obeyed. For a moment he stared uncomprehendingly, then his eyes widened, and he lunged upward. "DAD!"

Fenton wrapped his arms about his younger son in a hard hug. "I don't know what you're doing here, but..."

"We came to find you!" Joe explained, hugging Fenton in return. "I guess I found you all right," he added, wincing, "but not quite how I meant to! Man, what a headache!"

"I think you should lie down again," his father recommended, loosening his hold enough to let Joe stretch out flat on the carpeting. Rising to his feet, he perfunctorily checked the closet door, then got a pillow from the closet shelf and slid it beneath Joe's head. "I know how you feel, believe me – but I can assure you that it does get better over time!"

"You got clobbered too, huh?" Joe winced, settling himself carefully on the pillow.

"Unfortunately, yes. Now—" Fenton settled back down on the floor, sitting cross-legged beside his son. "tell me please, what – where – how do you happen to be here?"

Joe smiled a little. "When you didn't make your check-in call on Friday night," he explained, "we got worried and contacted Jim and Blair. Who were also worried, because you'd missed lunch with them. When they told us that, Frank and I caught the first flight here we could. We've been looking for you ever since. With some unofficial help from the Cascade police." He looked down at his wristwatch. "It's still Sunday night!"

"Uh-huh," his father agreed. "You know, don't you, that while I'm very glad to see you, and to know that you were looking out for my welfare, I'd rather you hadn't found me quite this way?"

Joe pushed himself up on his elbows, grimacing as the movement made his head spin. "Well, it wasn't really my first choice either, Dad, ya know?"

Fenton gently pushed him back down. "You may as well stay still; there's nothing for you to get up for." He surveyed their prison ruefully, rising to walk around and examine it in detail. "No windows, no vents, and a blocked door with – so I was told – a guard outside. I think we're stuck for awhile."

Joe scowled, but was forced to agree with Fenton's assessment of their situation.

"Now...since I've been sort of out of the loop for a few days, care to tell me what's going on?" Fenton resumed his seat beside Joe.

Joe pondered for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts. It was difficult with the throbbing pain in his head. "Well," he began, "we really don't know what's going on, exactly. Frank and I tried to talk to Roberta Van Lansing, but she insisted she'd never heard of or from you...although we knew better. Well, we know she'd gotten your messages, anyway. Jim and Blair found out that she seems to be involved with some guy named Darius Sutherland from back east, who's visiting his wealthy cousin here in Cascade." He paused to look again at their surroundings. "Have you been here all the time?"

"No!" his father said. "They moved me – I guess right after they captured you. They brought us here in a car. I was in some sort of basement storage room, but I don't know where. Furnaces and...things like that."

"The Lincolnshire Tower," Joe said with conviction. "It's a big – make that huge – office building in downtown Cascade. We were pretty sure you were there, Frank and I, but we couldn't get in to search. We followed Bobbi there. We were watching the building, but somebody got the jump on me in the underground parking area." He rubbed his head gingerly. "Frank's gonna freak," he added. "First you disappear, then me. Why did they grab you, anyway, do you know?"

Fenton shook his head. "Not precisely. I don't think I'd been all that threatening, but apparently someone got scared of me trying to find Bobbi Van Lansing. I was in my motel room, getting ready to meet your friends for lunch, and there was a knock on the door. I didn't think anything of it; I opened it, and two men in ski masks forced their way in. I fought for awhile, but I guess they got tired of it, and...wham!"

He rubbed his head in memory of the blow which had rendered him senseless. "I woke up tied and blindfolded in that...room, whatever it was. And Bobbi's definitely involved, although I don't believe she had anything to do with my kidnapping." He grinned, suddenly looking very like Frank. "She's been yelling a lot at someone or other over it. I couldn't hear all of it, but I heard enough. And it got a whole lot worse when you – I didn't know it was you, though – showed up." The smile faded. "I don't know what she's mixed up in, Joe. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

Joe was patting his pockets hopefully, only to desist with a sigh. "I thought maybe I hadn't been frisked, and my cell phone might be here," he explained to Fenton, who nodded and shrugged in resignation.

"They took pretty much everything I had, too."

"They took your files," Joe told him. "There was nothing in the motel room but your clothes and shaving things, that sort of stuff."

Fenton shook his head. "Makes no sense," he reiterated. He got up and retrieved another pillow from the shelf. "Might as well get comfortable while we wait," he said, and lay back on the floor with a sigh. "Try to get some rest, Joe; that bang on the head needs it."

#####

Captain Simon Banks surveyed the three men in his office grimly. He noted that they all looked pale and haggard in the morning light streaming in through the windows. After hearing what had been going on, from Jim late the night before, he understood why. He'd acceded to Ellison's request that he and Sandburg be removed from the homicide case to concentrate on the disappearing Hardys – and now he had another battle on his hands!

"I AM going with you to Lincolnshire Tower," Frank Hardy said adamantly. "You can try to stop me, but I am going. I'll go alone if you won't take me with you, but I am going to look for Joe and my father, and that's all there is to it!"

A muscle in Jim Ellison's jaw was jumping with tension, and he glared at Frank. "Not if you're in protective custody!" he snapped. "It's too dangerous, and I don't want you along. I want you to stay here at the station."

"Why would I be in danger if I'm with you and Blair?" Frank shot back. His glare didn't quite match the Sentinel's for power, but it was effective, nonetheless.

Almost subvocal, Blair murmured "Gotcha there."

Ellison transferred his glare to his partner, then rubbed his jaw irritably. "It would be better—"

Simon decided it was time to intervene; this could go on interminably. "Frank, do you promise to stay with Sandburg or Ellison at all times, and obey them, if I allow you to go along?"

Jim whirled towards his boss. "Sir, I don't think—"

"Detective, I was not addressing you. Frank?" Banks gentled his tone. He could clearly see the anguish on the boy's face, and he recalled that Frank and Joe were considered good friends by his son. What would Daryl say to him when he found that both Joe and Mr. Hardy had disappeared shortly after coming to Cascade? He'd get that... _look_...from his son, the disappointed, 'I thought you could do anything, and you let me down' look. Banks didn't want to see that expression on Daryl's face.

Frank nodded shortly. "I promise. I'll do whatever they say."

Jim blew out a frustrated breath and made an 'I give up' sort of gesture. "All right, all right." He stalked from the captain's office without a backward glance.

Frank glanced from Banks to Sandburg, a miserable yet defiant look. "I didn't want to make him so mad, it's just..."

"He'll get over it," Blair said calmly. "But why don't you give him a few minutes to cool off? And me a little while to try and...smooth things over." He glanced into the bullpen, and saw his partner seated at his desk, staring at his computer screen. "Come out in about five minutes and join us, okay?"

"Okay."

Banks reached for the coffee pot. "Care for a cup of coffee, Frank?" he invited.

Quietly, Blair left Banks' office and moved to stand behind Jim, reading over his shoulder. "Checking up on Sutherland, huh?" He laid a soothing hand on the Sentinel's shoulder, feeling Jim's tense muscles relax minutely at the contact. "Anything?" He began to rub the taut shoulders gently.

Jim shook his head. "Nothing detrimental. He's just what his cousin said he was, evidently; a stockbroker in New York. If he's doing something else, it hasn't caught up with him yet." He clicked to a new page. "No warrants, no outstandings, hell, he doesn't even get traffic tickets!"

"Maybe he doesn't drive in New York City," Blair pointed out sensibly.

Jim shoved the keyboard away suddenly and turned around, dislodging Blair's comforting hands. "Chief, you know it's a bad idea to take Frank along!" he growled. "What if there's somebody intent on taking the Hardys out, one by one? He'd be a sitting duck, going back there, even with us!"

"He wants to find his brother and father. He wants to help. Don't deny him that, man...and don't treat him like a baby, either. He's not a baby – he's as old or older than a lot of guys in the military, for instance."

"They're babies too," Jim said, sounding stubbornly miserable.

"You didn't think that when you were 19."

"I was pretty stupid when I was 19, Chief." Ellison sighed. "Some things don't change."

Blair sighed too, and leaned against his desk, surveying his partner thoughtfully. "Are you implying you're still stupid? Come back from the guilt trip, Jim. This wasn't your fault."

"But it happened on my watch," Ellison muttered. "On our watch, Chief. First Hardy and now his son."

"So we'll do something about it," Blair vowed. "We'll find them. We just haven't pursued the right trail yet. Why don't we try calling John Sartellis again? He's the best link we have to Darius Sutherland, and Sutherland's tied in somehow to Roberta Van Lansing."

Jim smiled a little, nodded agreement and reached for the telephone. While he was involved in conversation with Sartellis' secretary, Blair beckoned to Frank, who emerged from Captain Banks' office and somewhat hesitantly joined the detectives. He was carrying two mugs of Simon's coffee, one of which he silently placed at Ellison's elbow; evidently a peace offering of sorts.

Blair gave him an encouraging smile. "We'll probably go pretty soon; Jim's checking on a couple of things first," he said softly.

"Is he still mad?" Frank whispered with a sidelong glance at the other detective.

Blair had to bite back a grin, knowing full well that Jim was able to hear them just fine. "I think he's okay now. He's just worried about you, Frank." A reminiscent smile quirked one corner of Sandburg's mouth. "He's about had his fill of civilians riding along with him, that's all."

Ellison reached out with a pen and lightly swatted his partner with it for that remark, and ended his conversation, looking frustrated again. "John Sartellis is out of the office and out of town today," he reported. "I've left urgent messages for him to call us if he should happen to check in, but..." He sighed and took a long sip of the coffee Frank had brought him.

"What does that mean?" Frank asked. "I mean, what does that mean for you – us? What do we do now?"

"Well, it means that we'll go over and see what we can find at the Lincolnshire Tower and try to catch up with Sartellis later," Ellison said. He looked up at Frank. "You promised, remember."

"I know. I'll stick with you guys. Just don't shut me out, okay?"

Jim nodded briefly and picked up the mug. "Thanks for the coffee."

"You're welcome."

Blair dug through a desk drawer to conceal his smirk, ostensibly looking for a pen that suited him. Frank and Jim had made their peace, in a fashion. Now the only problem was going to be allowing the Sentinel to use his abilities without Frank's keen eye catching him at it. He suspected Ellison hadn't quite thought this aspect through when he insisted on Frank remaining with them at all times. Well, he could distract Frank while Jim worked; Ellison was scarily adept at using those enhanced senses now, with or without his Guide's help.

Jim drained the coffee cup and rose, marshaling Blair and Frank before him. "Let's go. We've got some people to find."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

 **Missing Persons**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel crossover story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 9

As Jim had foreseen, by the time they reached the Lincolnshire Tower and convinced the security people that they had a legitimate reason to search the place, the traces of Joe Hardy's presence the previous night had disappeared, even for a Sentinel. Too many people had gone in and out of that entrance and up those stairs.

But they tried their best. Ellison, Sandburg and Frank Hardy went over several flights of stairs inch by inch, with nothing to show for their efforts. They then moved on to search the basement level, for as Blair pointed out, it was a whole lot simpler to hide someone down there than in an upper-story office! If it came to searching offices and public waiting areas and restrooms and such, they'd be there for weeks.

Frank found himself with Sandburg most of the time, when all three of them weren't working in a group. He wondered about that a little, knowing that he was perfectly capable of searching for clues alone, and that the detective partners disliked being split up, for some reason; and then he figured it out. Ellison didn't want him to be by himself. Evidently Jim had come up with the same notion Frank himself had: someone from Fenton's past had discovered the man was in Cascade, had targeted him, and possibly was on a revenge-kick against the whole Hardy family. Therefore, Frank must be guarded at all times to prevent another kidnapping.

Frank himself had dismissed the idea almost as soon as he'd thought of it. Although it certainly was possible that one of Fenton's old enemies had either traced the investigator here or had simply been in the right place at the right time, it was highly unlikely that whoever it was would have hung around and waited for him and Joe to show up days later. But convincing Jim Ellison of that was easier said than done. Frank finally just decided to make the best of it for now, and do his arguing at a better time.

"Anything?" Blair moved close to his partner and spoke for Jim's ears alone.

"Somebody was here," the Sentinel affirmed. "These two rooms – this one with the heating/cooling machinery and the one right next to it. There isn't as much dust on things, and there's crumbs of food...and there's a _chair_ in the middle of the furnace room, for God's sake! But nothing that points to any specific person. I mean, it could be anyone." He sighed. "We know what likely went on, but we can't prove it."

"Yet," Blair replied succinctly.

Jim winced as the air conditioning units suddenly kicked on and their roar filled the small enclosed room..

"You need to get out of here?" Blair asked.

"Don't need to, but I'll be glad to leave." Ellison's nostrils flared slightly, and he frowned in concentration.

"What are you picking up?"

"Some sort of aftershave or cologne. Very faint. And it's only in here. I didn't pick it up anywhere else." Jim raised his voice. "Frank, you know offhand what kind of aftershave or cologne your father wears?"

Frank had been circling the furnace room as the detectives quietly chatted, examining everything closely. He looked up at Jim's query. "It varies, but I think lately he's been using _Carlos_ _Santana_."

Blair exploded into laughter and Jim nearly choked. "What? There's Santana COLOGNE?" he asked incredulously.

"Um...yeah." Frank looked at him rather oddly, wondering why this was such a big deal, then shrugged it off. "My mom gave it to him." His face sobered as he mentioned Laura; their conversation this morning had been... _tense_ , to say the least. He exited into the corridor, still bent over to examine the floor, heading for the other room.

"I'll be damned and double-damned!" Blair was still giggling. "Santana cologne. Now I know EXACTLY what to get you for your birthday, partner!"

Jim, chuckling as well, waved him off, then noticed the Hardy boy's absence. "Go keep an eye on—" he started to say, when they were startled by Frank's yelp.

"JIM! BLAIR!"

When the police officers reached him, Frank was down on his knees beside a tall shelving unit. He scrabbled underneath it and came out clutching something tightly in one hand. "Look!" he gasped, and held up a battered cell phone. "It's Joe's!"

###

"We aren't any farther, but we're not exactly at Square One, either," Blair stated, gazing across the restaurant table at a somber-eyed Frank. The three of them were sharing lunch at a deli which purported to be 'just like New York,' and was located conveniently near the precinct. The detectives had taken Frank there hoping that he would be amused by the claim and enjoy the food – in other words, to try and cheer him up.

Frank had smiled, voiced his appreciation and was making a pretense of eating his lunch, but his dark eyes were hooded and remote, and he was keeping Joe's cell phone in his lap where he could constantly rest a hand on it.

"We know that your dad was probably there, and we know that Joe was there," Blair continued, "and I would almost bet that they haven't been...harmed. I don't know why someone's done this, but we'll get to the bottom of it, Frank; we will."

"I know – and I know you guys are doing your best." Frank toyed with his knife idly. "It's just that there isn't anything to go on. To run with."

"After lunch we'll go over to the Silver Reef," Jim proposed. "Maybe we can shake something loose if we search Sutherland's room, and Van Lansing's. Who knows, maybe we'll hit it lucky and one or the other of them will actually be there!"

Frank looked a little cheered at this idea. He began to actually eat his lunch instead of playing with it, and Blair favored Jim with a congratulatory wink and a slight nod of approbation.

"Did you get anything from Sneaks?" Blair asked Jim now. The older man shook his head, looking morose.

"Not a thing. There's no sign of any criminal activity moving into Cascade, at least as far as Sneaks knows. New, I mean; nothing otganized." A grin etched itself across his face briefly. "At least I didn't have to waste any shoes."

"That's because your feet are too big; he only wants mine! Well, you tried, anyway." Sandburg attempted comfort. Jim just grimaced in disgust at his failure.

Their arrival at the Silver Reef was greeted with definite coolness. The desk clerk practically sneered at them when they inquired about searching some of the guests' rooms – but when Jim casually mentioned kidnappings, the involvement of federal agents, laid his badge on the counter and innocently rested a hand near his holstered revolver, the desk clerk became a little more cooperative. He looked up the room numbers of Darius Sutherland and Roberta Van Lansing and handed each detective a pass-keycard. As they turned to go and start their search, the man called them back.

"Did you want to search the room Mr. Sutherland's associates are staying in, as well?"

Blair spun around. "His associates?"

"Yes, Detective. Mr. Muscaletti and Mr. Tambura. They arrived together. With Mr. Sutherland, I mean. They share a room."

"In that case, yes, we would. What's the room number?"

Stepping away from the desk, they paused to regroup. "It'll be faster if we split up," Blair suggested.

Ellison nodded and mentally assessed their little group. There was no question of each of them taking one room, which would of course have been the most logical solution – although he trusted Frank Hardy to do a thorough and careful job of searching for clues, he didn't want the kid left alone and unguarded. His father and brother had disappeared; Jim was determined that Frank was not going to be taken as well. If he took Frank along with him, all well and good, but he would have to monitor his use of enhanced senses. He'd learned how not to be terribly obvious about it, but explaining how he found something and making it sound believable got tedious and was always a calculated risk.

Decision made, Jim spoke: "Chief, you and Frank want to go through Sutherland's room and Ms. Van Lansing's? I'll take the other one."

Blair gave him one swift glance before nodding; Ellison suspected he'd been doing his own calculations of risks and benefits. "Okay, that works. We have two rooms to cover, but there are two of us, so it ought to go faster." He gestured to Frank. "C'mon, let's go."

Left alone, Ellison made his way to the room occupied by Muscaletti and Tambura. He entered using the passkey-card, donned a pair of thin plastic gloves, and began his investigation.

Fifteen minutes later, cultivating a headache from using his expanded senses in a room full of the mingled scents of people and cigarette smoke – despite the fact that the room was designated non-smoking – Jim was ready to call it quits. He had found nothing unusual – nothing incriminating. How frustrating this was! He gratefully pulled everything back to 'normal,' sense-wise and sighed with relief. It didn't help the headache much, at least not initially, but at least input wasn't _pounding_ at him quite so relentlessly. The headache would ease up soon enough, once he got out of here.

Checking carefully to make sure he'd left no evidence of his search for the room's occupants to find, should they return, Ellison moved toward the door. He opened it, flipping the light switch nearby, then turned back into the room, realizing that he'd left one of the bedside lamps on. The door began to ease shut softly on its self-closure mechanism.

At that moment a figure appeared in the doorway, shoving it fully ajar. "HEY! What're you doin' in here?" an angry voice yelled.

Jim whirled, leaping for the door, automatically reaching for the gun in his back holster, his senses kicking into overdrive – and at that crucial instant a car alarm activated in the parking garage just outside. As the strident klaxon hammered at his sensitive hearing, the Sentinel cringed, gasping with pain and clutching at his ears.

Rico Tambura took one long stride into his hotel room and calmly smacked his blackjack against Jim Ellison's unprotected head. The weapon struck the detective's temple, and blood spattered the wall as Ellison crumpled to the floor.

Rico stood over him, blackjack still raised, muttering furiously to himself about intruders and people bothering him and Bruno and Darius and Bobbi, but at last he came to realize that he couldn't just leave whoever this was lying in the hotel room. It was sure to be noticed eventually.

 _Might as well add him to the others_. Rico thought about it for a moment, and then went in search of a luggage cart. He'd seen some near the elevators, he was pretty sure. It would be a simple thing to put this guy on the cart, toss a blanket over him, and get him to the car. He could be put in with those Hardy guys; it was a big closet.

It was handy, after all, to have a room overlooking the parking garage!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

Thank you, Sarai and Marvelmyra (Guest) for your reviews!

 **Missing Persons**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 10

Fenton and Joe had been sitting on the floor – there was absolutely nothing else to do, after all – and wondering aloud just when all this was going to end. They'd slept the night through on the closet floor, thankful for the carpeting, the pillows and the blankets. They'd been duly escorted to a bathroom, one at a time, three times, and their guard – Bruno, now – had provided them with something to eat, and had left them bottled water. Twice. Other than that, they had been left severely alone.

It was now Monday afternoon, and both Hardy men, but Fenton in particular, were beginning to wonder if they were doomed to die of frustration and boredom in this walk-in closet. Of course, it was hard to complain too vociferously when things might have been so much worse, after all. Both Joe and Fenton had been held captive in far worse places. Here they were relatively comfortable and fed and not mistreated. Joe's headache had subsided after a night's rest, and bothered him only minimally; Fenton's had been gone for two days now.

They had tried to make the time pass and to keep alert; they'd done calisthenics such as sit-ups and pushups and crunches. They'd discussed the situation in depth with no results but confusion. They'd wondered what Frank was doing to find them, with or without the aid of the Cascade Police Department. And they'd watched time tick by slowly...slowly; watched the numbers click by and the hands go around, on their respective watches.

"Mom's gonna be awfully upset," Joe said now, out of a long silence. "Frank would have had to call her."

Fenton winced. He'd thought of that too. "I know."

"She was worried about us coming here to look for you," Joe continued. "She said right out that she was afraid we'd disappear too. How freaky is that, huh?"

"Your mother's a very astute woman. She knows the risks of a profession like mine...ours," Fenton amended with a wry smile. "She also knows that we'll come back if it's humanly possible."

"Yeah..." Joe sighed and subsided into silence once more.

A sudden noise outside their prison made both Hardys look up, tensing. There was the familiar sound of the chair, or whatever it was, being pulled away from the door, and then it opened slightly.

"Keep away from the door," Bruno's voice growled. "Don't try anything, hear me?"

Obediently, they backed away. The door was opened wider and to their utter shock, Bruno entered with a limp body slung over one shoulder. He bent down and deposited it on the floor at Fenton and Joe's feet. "Brought you someone else to play with," he grunted, and backed out again. The door was shut, and again came the sound of a barricade being shoved into place.

Joe gasped as he realized who their new fellow-prisoner was. "JIM!" He quickly knelt beside the detective's crumpled form. "Dad, it's Jim – Detective Ellison!"

They eased Ellison onto his back, and Fenton sucked in a breath when the big cop's face came into view. Blood streaked one side of it, oozing sluggishly from a small cut on the man's forehead. "Ouch. Someone clocked him pretty good. I think there's some pillowcases up there on that shelf, Joe; get one and we'll see about bandaging this."

Joe obeyed, tearing strips of cloth from the pillowcase with quick fingers. Fenton, meanwhile, took a piece of pillowcase and began to carefully wipe the blood from Ellison's face, trying to get an idea of the severity of his injuries.

"This cut's the only thing – well, he's got quite a bump there, as well, but I mean there doesn't seem to be anything else wrong. Hand me that bottle of water, please?"

"I'll bet he was hit with a blunt object, just like we were," Joe said shrewdly, "only he turned around just as it was coming down, and took it in the face instead of the back of the head."

"You're probably right," his father agreed, beginning now to wrap the cotton strips around Ellison's head in a simple bandage. "At least we know that there's something going on with trying to find us," he added.

"So far it doesn't seem to be working very well," Joe said bitterly. "The only way we get found is by someone else getting captured!"

"Considering that I don't believe these are hardened, experienced criminals, they're having an unbelievable run of luck!" Fenton commented dryly, and sat back on his heels, scrutinizing his work. "There, that's about the best I can do."

"I wonder why he's still unconscious." Joe laid a hand on Ellison's wrist. "His pulse is strong...he's breathing okay. Why isn't he waking up?"

Fenton shook his head. "Head injuries can be tricky. There could be something damaged in there that we don't know about." He got another pillow and eased it beneath Jim's head. "May as well try to make him as comfortable as we can."

Joe sighed. "This is just going to kill Blair," he murmured, then paused, jolted by his own words. "Oh God, Dad – what if something's happened to Blair and Frank?"

#####

"Where IS he?" Sandburg paced restlessly, waiting for his partner to return from checking out the room occupied by Bruno Muscaletti and Rico Tambura. Although Blair had wanted to stay with Ellison, he knew why he and Frank had been assigned to snoop through Darius Sutherland's room and Roberta Van Lansing's: Jim was intending to use his enhanced senses during his search, and didn't want Frank to observe him doing so. "How long does it take, anyway?" Although he was half-afraid that Jim had zoned on something, he didn't dare go find out without taking Frank along. It was an impossible situation, and he fumed, and cussed Jim out silently for putting him in it.

He and Frank had found...nothing. Zilch. It didn't even look as if Sutherland or Van Lansing had been in their rooms very much lately.

He pulled his cell phone out and punched a number...then waited tensely. To his utter dismay, there was no answer. When it switched to voice mail, Blair cut the connection and made his decision. "Come on, we're going to go see what's happened. But stay behind me when we get there. Let me go in first. Got it?"

Frank frowned a little at this stern injunction, but he nodded his understanding. He'd seen this man nearly lose his partner to an assassin's bullets, and knew how close Blair and Jim were. Blair was usually very easy-going, but he was getting scared now, and any snappishness on his part was easy to understand and forgive. "Got it," he said.

It only took them a few minutes to reach their destination. The door to the room was closed and locked, and when Blair knocked on it and called sharply, there was no response from inside. Taking the passkey from his pocket, Sandburg slid the card into the slot and when the lights glowed green, shoved the door open. Gesturing for Frank to stay back, he entered the room, one hand instinctively reaching for his holstered revolver.

"Jim? Jim, you here?"

Only silence greeted his query.

"JIM?" It took only a few seconds to ascertain that the room was empty of any living being other than himself. Shaken, Blair beckoned Frank inside. "He's not here!"

"Where would he have gone? Do you suppose someone came and he – took off after them, or something?" Frank demanded.

"He'd have let me know somehow; he wouldn't have just left...but I'll check." Blair stared around the hotel room looking for any signs of his missing partner, then walked into the bathroom, punching a button on his phone. Frank heard him inquire whether Detective Ellison had called in anything like an 'in pursuit' notification, or if he'd been heard from in the last 30 minutes.

Frank began to look around as well, and his sharply indrawn breath brought Sandburg back to the main room in a hurry. "What?"

"Look." Frank pointed at the cream-colored wall near the doorway, and then at the beige carpet. "Look there."

Sandburg looked, and felt his heart turn over in his chest. Showing clearly on the light paint were spots of something dark red...almost certainly blood. A slightly larger smudge stained the pale carpet. Very lightly, Blair touched one of the spots, then looked at his forefinger. "It's fresh," he heard himself say, in a voice he scarcely recognized.

"Jim? Or someone else?" Frank breathed.

Blair shook his head, unable to give the other man an answer. With trembling hands he pulled out his cell phone again and once more hit a speed-dial number. It was answered almost immediately.

" _Banks."_

"Sandburg here, sir. Captain, Jim's gone."

" _What? What are you talking about?"_

"We...I...we need a forensics team at the Silver Reef."

" _Sandburg, can you try to make sense, here? What's happened?"_

Blair firmed his jaw and took a deep breath, striving for calm. "We're at the Silver Reef Hotel, sir. Jim was checking one room and Frank and I the others. When I tried to contact Jim, he didn't respond, so we came down to the room he was supposed to be in. It's empty...and there's some fresh blood spots on the wall and the carpeting. Jim's been taken, Simon!"

" _Jesus in a jumpsuit!"_ For an instant Banks was unable to come up with anything more to say, then he rallied _. "Okay, I'll get Forensics rolling and I'll be there as soon as I can. Stay put...and Sandburg?"_

"Yes, sir?"

" _It'll be all right. We'll find Ellison for you."_ The receiver clicked down, ending the conversation.

Blair slowly pocketed his phone and turned to the anxiously waiting Frank. "He's sending a team and coming himself." He shivered involuntarily, despite the warmth of the room, staring blankly at the blood-spattered wall. "This can't be happening..." The whispered words sent a chill through Frank as well.

"Can we wait outside?" he asked hopefully, and Sandburg nodded, jarred from his introspection. He ushered Frank out of the room, and they both leaned against the wall to wait for the arrival of Banks and the technicians.

Frank finally broke the silence. "At least now we know it's not something specifically aimed at us – at my dad and Joe and me. Although I guess right now you probably wish it had been, huh? That way Detective Ellison wouldn't have been...taken."

The guilt-ridden tone of Frank's voice made Blair feel ashamed of himself. "No," he said gently, laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder, "of course I don't wish that. This is just – it's just a professional hazard, that's all. It comes with the job. Jim and I both know that. It's just that this seems to happen a lot, you know? To Jim and me. And when someone takes him, it's...well, it's not good." Even as he spoke, the young cop was remembering other times, long past: _Colonel Oliver...Lee Brackett_...

No, when Jim was taken, it was never good.

###

The forensics team arrived and began to go over the room in careful detail. Blair watched them set to work, briefly answering their few questions and declining to leave the room. He was unsurprised when Captain Banks showed up, less than five minutes behind the technicians. The big captain strode up to him, dark face creased with a scowl that looked formidable, but Blair knew was a mask to hide his concern.

"Simon," he greeted listlessly.

"Sandburg," Banks returned in a surprisingly gentle tone. He nodded to Frank, who had been hovering near Blair uncertainly. "Hello, Frank."

"Hi, Captain Banks."

Banks didn't beat around the bush. "Let's see the blood," he said curtly, and hunkered down to inspect the telltale spots when Sandburg moved aside. After a moment he glanced up. "There's not much – whatever happened, it wasn't too serious."

"It could be," Blair argued, lips stiff with tension.

"You don't even know that's Jim's blood," Banks reminded him.

"I just...know," the younger man stated with finality.

Simon, sensing one of the subjects he preferred not to think about unless forced, sighed and desisted from the argument. "It might be something as minor as a nosebleed, you know," he reminded his detective. "Ellison tends to get in fistfights with perps."

"Yeah," Sandburg sighed.

They observed the techs in silence for a while, but it wasn't very long before the crew was packing up their equipment and preparing to leave.

"Nothing," Serena informed them, as she went by. "We'll check that blood right away, Blair, see if it matches what we have on file for Jim." She patted his arm. "Don't worry, honey, okay?"

He nodded, forcing a smile. "Thanks, Serena."

After they were gone Simon, Blair and Frank stepped back into the room for one more look around. It was a typical hotel room, located annoyingly near the hotel's adjoining parking structure. Sounds of car engines and occasional horns honking were an almost-constant barrage, especially when the door was open. Aside from the fact that it was occupied by two persons who weren't exceptionally tidy, there was nothing outstanding about the room; no indications of criminal activity...and no sign of Detective Jim Ellison.

They returned to the police station and Blair settled down at his computer, with Frank perched in an extra chair beside him. The detective had to smile just a little; it reminded him of the past, when it was _Jim_ seated at the desk and himself dragging up an extra chair. His throat tightened, and he resolutely pushed those memories away. They had work to do.

"Let's see if we can find anything on Muscaletti and Tambura," he suggested. He opened up their criminal database program and typed in a name: Bruno Muscaletti. Shortly information began to flow onto the screen; Frank leaned closer to watch intently.

###

"So...what have you come up with?" Captain Banks had exited his office and now stood quietly near Sandburg's desk. In their fierce concentration on what they were doing, neither Blair nor Frank had noticed his arrival.

Blair leaned back from his intense scrutiny of the computer screen and picked up the piece of paper where he'd scribbled notes. "Muscaletti and Tambura both have minor offenses – barroom brawling, simple assault charges, criminal mischief, that sort of thing. Couple of short jail terms, county level. No felonies. No outstanding warrants." He sighed and added bitterly, "This is apparently the first time they've been out here on the west coast. Why the hell did they have to come here and decide to escalate their activities now?"

"They were here in Cascade before Dad, so they didn't follow him," Frank put in. "Happenstance," he said, with an acidity equal to Sandburg's. But even as worried as he was, somehow Frank found it reassuring that these men who were suspected of kidnapping his family members and Jim Ellison weren't prone to violence.

"Hmm." Banks considered it for a few moments, rubbing a hand over his chin thoughtfully. He looked around at the nearly-deserted bullpen; everyone else had left for the evening. "Come on, you two," he said at last. "How about dinner? I'm buying."

"Captain, that's not neces—"

Simon glared him into silence, then repeated, "I'm offering to buy dinner. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Sandburg."

"Yes sir, thank you, sir," Blair sighed resignedly. Maybe it was a good idea. After all, what were he and Frank supposed to do, go back to the loft and stare at each other the rest of the evening...and night? And tomorrow...? He cut off the anxious thoughts firmly. They would find Jim...and Joe...and Mr. Hardy. They _would_.

###

All three of them made valiant efforts, and the meal passed pleasantly enough. They talked about Frank's freshman year at college, and about Daryl's year at Duke, and his vacation to the Caribbean. They talked about the Jags' hopes for next year's season, and pro basketball in general; the NBA draft was coming up soon. Blair dredged up old stories from his anthropology days and did his best to make them entertaining.

But there was a pall over everything that even the best intentions couldn't lift. During dinner Serena called: nothing incriminating had been found – but the blood on the wall and the carpeting matched Jim Ellison's.

"I knew it." Blair's tone was bleak. "I knew it." He stared out the window of the restaurant, his lips set in a grim line. "He's hurt, Simon. Someone's taken him, and...he's hurt."

"Don't let your imagination run wild, Sandburg," the big captain cautioned. "You know that that little dab of blood doesn't indicate any major injury, and you also know Jim's a pretty capable man."

Sandburg managed a smile at that. "Now that's an understatement if I ever heard one."

"So whoever has him is going to regret it," Banks predicted.

Frank watched the two police officers sadly. He felt responsible for Blair's distress, for if it hadn't been for Fenton and Joe, Jim would never have been put in jeopardy. "I'm sorry," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "I feel like it's all our fault. Again."

Blair and Simon both looked at him, and Banks shook his head firmly. "It was not your fault. These two—" he looked at Blair meaningfully, "get into these situations all the time. Haven't you figured that out yet? Only usually it's Sandburg who's missing and Ellison who's tearing the city apart trying to find him."

Blair smiled faintly. "I wish I could refute your claim, but I can't. He's right, Frank – if it hadn't been this, it would have been something else. This wasn't your fault – or your father's. It just happened." He pushed back his nearly-empty plate and straightened up. "What do you say we go back to the loft and try to get some sleep? It's been a pretty long day."

"Okay." As they rose to leave, Frank couldn't help thinking that it was going to be a very long night, as well.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

 **Missing Persons**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 11

It was a full hour before Jim began to return to consciousness, and by that time Joe and Fenton were getting very worried. They'd both had considerable experience with getting knocked out, and knew that prolonged unconsciousness wasn't a good sign.

Joe wracked his memory, trying to recall whether or not he'd heard either Blair or Jim mention any prior difficulties like this. Allergies, yes – he remembered Captain Banks saying that Jim had drug sensitivities, after he'd been shot. But now? He hadn't been given anything that would cause this – had he? Vaguely, he could recall hearing Jim's voice in the back of his mind...he'd said something once – when they were trying to find Frank and Blair and Daryl. Something about concentration. That when he concentrated he sometimes sort of got...lost.

" _Look, if you think I'm starting to drift, shake me or say something to me, okay? Tap me. Hell, slap me, if you have to."_

Well, it didn't look like Ellison was concentrating on anything right now, but he _might_ have been, before...at any rate, there was no way Joe was going to slap an unconscious man with a head injury, that was certain!

Every few minutes either he or Fenton would try to rouse the comatose detective, but so far they had had no success. It was his turn now. He began rubbing Ellison's wrist and forearm gently, and talking quietly to him.

"Jim? Detective Ellison? Can you hear me?" He paused a moment, waiting and hoping, then resumed the gentle stroking. "C'mon Jim, wake up, huh – hey, there you go!" Joe gasped as Ellison abruptly stirred under his hand. Fenton leaned closer, watching intently. "Jim?"

The big man didn't open his eyes, but his face screwed up in a grimace of pain, and one hand lifted, reaching...searching..."Sandburg...?"

"No...sorry, it's not Blair. It's Joe."

Slowly, Ellison's eyes opened. He winced, blinked a few times and then squinted up at Joe. "Joe...?" The gaze sharpened as Jim realized who it was he was staring at. "Joe!?"

Joe grinned in relief. "Yeah, it's me. Welcome to our little hideaway."

Jim dazedly pushed himself up onto one elbow, and flinched, grunting with pain. Fenton moved forward to brace him. "Take it easy."

Ellison turned his head and surveyed a stranger with a familiar face – a face that showed him what Frank Hardy probably would look like in 20 years. "You must be Fenton," he said faintly.

Hardy's dark eyes twinkled, which made him resemble his elder son even more. "Well, if I must, I must," he said, "but if I had my druthers I'd rather be—"

"DAD!" Joe interrupted, turning crimson. "Not that old joke about Meryl Streep!"

"Meryl Streep nothing," his father said blandly. "I was going to say I'd rather be Clint Eastwood!"

Ellison began to chuckle despite the pain arcing through his head.

Joe sighed heavily. "Jim, meet my father, Fenton Hardy," he offered. "A private detective with a hidden desire to be a standup comedian. Dad, Detective Jim Ellison."

"We've talked on the phone," Fenton said, extending his hand, "but it's nice to meet in person. Although this wasn't quite what I had in mind for a meeting place. No seafood buffet."

Jim laughed painfully and reached for Fenton's hand, sitting up a little more – and winced again. "Ow," he muttered, putting the hand to his head instead. Encountering the bandage, he frowned in puzzlement. "What happened to me, anyway?"

"Why don't you lie down again?" Fenton suggested, and eased the other man back to rest on the pillow. "We can't do anything but sit here, so you might as well take it easy. As for what happened, we aren't sure, but we think maybe you walked face-first into a blackjack. I realize it's a lot of bandage for a small cut, but we didn't have anything better to work with."

Ellison's frown was more of concentration now than bewilderment. "Oh yeah," he murmured. "I was just going to leave the hotel room when some guy opened the door..." Now he remembered: the sudden blaring car alarm from the parking garage which had ricocheted through his head and caused him to freeze a moment in the pain of a sensory spike. That moment had evidently been his undoing. _Sandburg'll be so pissed...Oh Lord. Pissed nothing...he'll have a panic attack when he finds out I'm gone!_ "How long – what time is it?"

Joe looked at his watch. "Five-thirty-eight, Monday evening. You were dumped in here about four o'clock. You were out a long time; we were getting pretty worried. What hotel room?" he added.

 _Must've been partially zoned or something..._ Cautiously, Ellison visualized his mental dials and grimly noted that the one for pain was inching into what he inwardly termed the 'Red Zone.' He concentrated on pulling it down, bit by bit, until the savage headache eased somewhat.

"Um...a room at the Silver Reef," he answered Joe's question at last. "Do you have any idea why we've all been taken and stuck in here?"

"I'm thinking it's some sort of mistake...I mean, from what I overheard after they grabbed me, Bobbi Van Lansing was trying to avoid me, why I don't know – but it's her associates that keep dragging us all in here," Fenton mused. "Not her idea."

Jim reached automatically into a pocket, searching for his phone, and frowned in disappointment. "They must have searched me," he sighed, patting at all his pockets. "Even took my badge!"

As if on cue, suddenly the sound of a voice raised in utter fury reached them; although the speaker was downstairs both Joe and Fenton could hear it; to Jim it was crystal-clear.

" _You did WHAT? ANOTHER person? And this...this..."_ The voice was rising, escalating from furious shouts into shrieks of incredulity. _"You kidnapped...a_ _COP_ _? What were you...how could you..."_

" _Jeez, Bobbi, he was in mine and Bruno's room, snooping! What'd you expect me to do?"_

" _How about leave him alone!? Do you have any idea what you've done to us?"_ She was nearly crying now _. "You assaulted a police officer...Darius, DO something! We're all going to be in jail for years at this rate!"_

" _Calm down, Cuddles; we'll work something out."_ Sutherland was much quieter than Bobbi; Jim had to notch his hearing up slightly to catch what the man was saying. He did it cautiously, for his head still ached quite badly. _"Maybe we could just sort of...dump them...somewhere."_

" _Dump them...Dar, you're not saying...you wouldn't..."_

" _No_ _! Jesus, Bobbi, what do you take me for?"_

" _I don't know...I'm sorry...I'm just scared, Dar! This has all gotten way out of hand – and it's all THEIR FAULT!"_ There was a crash as of something being slammed or thrown. Fenton and Joe both heard it; Jim flinched at the impact on his throbbing head and shoved the dials ruthlessly down.

"Bobbi's not happy," he said unnecessarily, and quirked a wry smile at his fellow captives.

#####

"Cuddles, dearest," Darius Sutherland began hesitantly, ducking as another of Cousin John's mugs shattered against the wall, the splattered liquid contents creating Jackson-Pollack-like trails to the floor.

"Bobbi," he attempted again, having decided that the use of his favorite nickname was not quite appropriate at this time, "Bobbi, love, calm down. We can figure a way out of this. It's really not as bad as you think-"

"Not as bad as I think?" Bobbi shrieked in reply, grabbing yet a third mug and flinging it angrily against the wall. "Not as bad as I think?"

Darius shot a quick glance towards his two long-time friends, who were cowering a few feet away, and nodded towards the door. Perhaps his girlfriend would calm down if the other two left the room; a sort of 'out-of-sight, out-of mind' philosophy. Bruno nodded once and nudged his cousin out the door, secretly grateful to get out of the line of fire.

Darius flinched as a fourth mug impacted the wall, adding the final touches to his girlfriend's spontaneous attempt at modern art. Taking a moment to double-check that there were no other small, hard objects nearby that could be used as potential projectiles, he took a deep breath and slowly approached Bobbi.

The young woman was standing quite still, now, her chest heaving with angry breaths, her hands clenched into fists. Darius cleared his throat nervously, causing her to look up at him. She stood up taller, straightening her shoulders and shaking out the tension in her hands, allowing her arms to fall loosely at her sides.

"So, Darius, darling," she finally said, sarcasm thick in her voice, "care to explain to me just how it is that the fact that we have three captives – one of whom is a COP, and all of whom were assaulted – is not as bad as my overactive imagination leads me to believe it could be?"

"Well," her boyfriend began, "I admit it isn't the most ideal situation—"

"Most ideal situation?" Bobbi parroted back in exasperation.

"But, it's not as bad as it could be," he continued doggedly. He jumped ahead before she could react to that statement. "Look, I agree, it's a bad situation – one we never expected to happen, but we can still get out of it."

"How, Dar?"

"Well – er – well, we could leave – you, me, Bruno and Rico, I mean, and just leave a note for the cops." The young man smiled nervously.

"Just leave a note for the cops?" Bobbi asked, brows raised high.

"Yeah," Darius replied, a mixture of trepidation and hope in his eyes.

"And just what, Darius darling, would we say in this note? Hmmm? 'Dear Captives and Friends of Captives, we apologize for any inconvenience your inadvertent kidnappings may have occasioned. We hope you have enjoyed your stay, and will come again. Sincerely, Bobbi Van Lansing and Darius Sutherland?"

"Sure," Darius responded with nervous enthusiasm, before shaking his head, "No! I mean, yes – leave a note as an apology, but don't sign our names."

"Dar, you aren't thinking straight again," Bobbi began with an exasperated sigh, "By now, they have to know that I'm involved. They've SEEN me, remember? If we couldn't just leave Fenton Hardy to be found when we only had him, we certainly can't just leave them now. Even if we left them, without telling the police, they'd come after me. You too. And now they know about Bruno and Rico. Do you really want to be fugitives?"

"But at least as fugitives we'd be free, and not trapped in a house in Cascade. We have our passports, we could leave now, drive up to Canada, take the money I got from the Moranos, hire a charter jet. We could be anywhere else in the world in a matter of hours."

The rush of words ended as suddenly as it had started, blanketing the couple in a tense silence. Darius held his breath and fidgeted nervously before remembering he was supposed to be working on _not_ being so jittery. He took a deep breath and plastered a bright smile on his face. ' _I am NOT nervous,'_ he repeated mentally, as he waited for Bobbi's reaction.

"My passport is at the hotel, in the hotel safe," Bobbi mentioned softly, slowly coming to the conclusion that the only way out of this mess would be to flee the country as Darius suggested.

The smile on the young man's face turned genuine. Bobbi didn't seem so mad anymore, and maybe his idea might actually work. "The one in your room?" he ventured to ask.

"No. The small safe in my room was broken. I asked to keep my valuables in the hotel's main safe until it could be fixed."

Darius' handsome face scrunched up into a thoughtful mask as he pondered this new bit of information. He was definitely much happier now. His girlfriend had lost that pinched look around her eyes – the look that warned him that she was angry. "Could the night desk receptionist open the safe for you?" he asked with growing confidence.

"I don't believe so. I think I remember them telling me that if I needed anything out of the main safe, I would have to wait until morning."

"Well, then," the young man answered, as he ran a hand through his hair, much more hopeful about the situation, but still a bit uneasy, "I suppose we have to wait until morning." Besides, he thought, he'd still need to replace the mugs and clean the coffee stains.

#####

Frank Hardy lay on the long couch in the living room of the loft. Blair had made sure he was comfortable before retiring to his room, but it didn't seem to matter whether he was comfortable or not; sleep was not going to come this night. There were too many things tormenting his mind. His body ached for sleep; demanded it, but his mind would not let him rest.

His and Joe's decision to come to Cascade was supposed to have solved the mystery of their father's whereabouts – not compounded it. Imagined scenes of Fenton and Joe's possible tortures troubled him; guilt at letting Joe be kidnapped assailed him; chagrin at being an indirect cause of Jim's capture overwhelmed him, resulting in a tumultuous torrent of emotion. And stronger than any of those was the sense of anger and frustration at meeting failure at every step of the way!

The young man shifted restlessly, doing his best to remain silent. He had no wish to disturb Blair, if the detective had been fortunate enough to fall asleep. Blair needed his sleep – and he had been so distraught over his roommate's disappearance...

The soft creak of a door being opened and an even softer footfall alerted him to the fact that he was not the only one suffering from insomnia. Frank sat up, trying to ascertain in the dimness of the loft that it was, indeed, Sandburg, and not some intruder. His movement and indrawn breath sounded loud in the silence – but at least it would serve to signal Blair that he was awake.

Sandburg's reaction was immediate. "Can't sleep either?" he asked in a low voice, turning towards Frank.

"No," Frank answered. "My mind won't log off."

"May as well keep each other company, then." Blair moved to the corner with long-accustomed ease and reached for the lamp. "Shade your eyes," he warned softly, and turned the switch to its lowest setting. He perched on the back of the yellow chair, regarding his houseguest somberly. "You all right?"

"Yeah...I guess." Frank knew neither one of them were all right, but desired at least some pretense of normalcy.

Blair smiled at him, a little sadly. "Feel like having some hot chocolate?" he asked. "Supposed to be a sure-fire sleep aid."

"Sure." Frank settled back on the couch, curling up under the soft quilt Blair had provided him when he went to bed. For mid-June it was surprisingly cool, he thought – and then remembered the Northwest magic of warm days and cool – almost chill – nights. He stared at the bookshelves thoughtfully as Blair rattled around in the kitchen, and noticed a chessboard peeking out from a lower shelf. A few minutes later he found a mug of hot chocolate being pressed into his hands. "Thanks," he murmured, and sipped gingerly. "'S good," he added, managing a smile.

Blair sat down on the loveseat, and the two men sipped their beverages in companionable silence. After a short time Frank's curiosity got the better of him. "You play chess?" He nodded towards the board.

"A little," the detective acknowledged, following his gaze. "Jim's more the chess buff than I am; it's a military strategy thing, I think. But I play some, yeah. You?" He eyed the board wistfully, thinking of the games he and Jim loved to play on long winter evenings in the cozy loft.

"A little," Frank echoed, not bothering to mention that he loved chess, was very good at it, and had spent some time playing against and devising strategies with the Soviet Junior Chess champion, Pyotr Zigonev, a year or so before. A tiny but genuine smile curved his mouth.

"Want to play?" Blair got up and fetched the board and a small wooden box containing the chessmen. "It would at least be a distraction, since neither of us can sleep."

"Sure," Frank agreed, welcoming anything that would keep his mind occupied and away from its endless cycle of worry.

"Let's set it up here," Sandburg suggested, moving to the dining table. Frank brought the mugs from the living room and placed them in the sink, then took his place at the table. The two settled down for a classic battle of strategy.

That is, they both _intended_ for it to be a classic battle of strategy. Unfortunately, neither one was able to keep his attention focused on the game for more than a minute or two, which resulted in poorly calculated, half-hearted moves.

Blair was the first to look up and concede defeat. "I don't think this is much of a war," he stated wryly, tipping his king over.

Frank snorted and shook his head. "Hardly," he agreed. He regarded the game board again before continuing. "This knight," he said, pointing to one of his white knights, "managed to get himself captured by this black pawn. And this bishop," he went on with another shake of his head, "got himself captured too quickly too. It was a stupid move on my part."

Blair stared at him for a moment, then abruptly shoved the game pieces off the board and onto the table. He picked up the white knight and the white bishop and set them together in one corner of the board. He took the victorious black pawns and placed them close to the two white chess pieces. He looked up and made sure he had Frank's attention before he slowly picked up a white rook and placed it in the corner too. "This rook managed to get captured too easily, too" he stated softly.

Frank looked at him in mild confusion. What was the man talking about, anyway? But Blair hadn't finished.

"And the white knight and white rook that have been left behind," the Cascade detective continued as he selected the pieces and placed them at the other end of the board, "have to figure out who the black pawns are, and where and why their friends have been taken."

Frank smiled, understanding now. He selected the black queen and handed her to Blair. "We know there's a black queen that has to be involved somehow," he said. Blair nodded his head thoughtfully as he added the black queen to the corner with the captive pieces and the black pawns.

"And we probably know the identity of the pawns, too," he offered.

"The two men Ms. Van Lansing and her friend were known to hang around with," Frank concurred. "The ones whose room Jim disappeared from."

"Which means," Blair continued as he selected another chess piece, "that the black king is probably Darius Sutherland."

"And that means—" Frank began enthusiastically before coming to a sudden halt. "That means...what? It doesn't really help us any."

"Except to remind us of the one other player involved," Blair said thoughtfully. "The one most easily forgotten."

"Who's that?"

"The one who might be able to lead us back to the black king," the detective answered, as he placed a black bishop in the corner where the lone white rook and white knight stood. "John Sartellis."

###

Eventually they gave up and went back to bed, and surprisingly, to sleep, although neither of them slept more than a few hours. Frank was marginally comforted by Blair's assurance that when they managed to contact John Sartellis, things might start to break loose. Blair, although not as sanguine as he tried to sound, had hopes as well. Sartellis hadn't given off any bad 'vibes,' so to speak, and the detective would have been surprised if he was part of this kidnapping spree...but he had to know _something!_

By seven a.m. the two were both up, dressed and had eaten a sketchy breakfast. By eight they were both decidedly restless. Sandburg kept glancing at his watch, calculating just how early he might courteously telephone Mr. Sartellis at home. The first time he did so, however, he got no answer, and the call switched to an answering machine. Irked, the detective ended the call without leaving his name.

"He's not home?" Frank asked from the living room sofa, where he was watching _Good Morning America_ with a significant lack of attention.

"I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt, and assume he's taking a shower or something," Blair replied. "I'll try again in about 15 minutes."

The next time he dialed, the phone was answered on the third ring. " _Hello_?"

"Mr. Sartellis? This is Detective Blair Sandburg, Cascade PD. We met the other day...?"

" _Yes, Detective. What can I do for you?"_ Sartellis' voice sharpened slightly. _"Is something wrong?"_

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Blair admitted. "I'm sorry to disturb you so early in the morning, but I have a few questions I'd like to ask you regarding your cousin, Darius Sutherland."

" _Detective, I'll be honest with you; I'm just on my way out the door, and I'm running late. I'll be in my office in about 20 minutes. Could you meet me there?"_

Sandburg gritted his teeth in frustration. _No! I want these answers NOW! Can't you be late to your office for once?_ He wanted to scream. Pulling his composure about him, he replied as politely as he could manage, "That will be fine. I'll be there in 20 minutes. Goodbye." He cradled the receiver and turned to Frank. "Shall we go?"

Frank nodded, thumbed the remote control for the TV, and jumped to his feet, eager to take some action, slight as this might be, to find his father, brother, and friend.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

 **Missing Persons**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 12

Frank couldn't help shuddering a little as he and Blair entered the vast structure known as Lincolnshire Tower. In his mind, it was only associated with Joe's disappearance. He'd thought it was magnificent at first; a beautiful building. Now it merely represented unhappiness.

 _Stop it!_ he scolded himself. _It's just a stupid office building, and inside it there just might be the key to finding Dad and Joe and Jim! John Sartellis is going to know something that will help Blair and the other Cascade police officers locate them. He will!_

They entered an elevator and pressed button number 25. Beside him, Blair stared grimly at the swiftly-changing numbers on the elevator panel, focused on getting to Sartellis' office as rapidly as possible. He made tiny irritated noises in the back of his throat when the elevator stopped on intervening floors to pick up or discharge others.

Frank moved a step closer. "You okay?" he whispered.

Sandburg glanced up at him, and the hard blue of his eyes softened. "Yeah...sorry, man. I'm acting like a...well, I'm sorry." He grinned a little shamefacedly. "I'm turning into Jim, here."

"Not a problem." Frank felt the elevator car slow once again and glanced at the readout. _25_. He pressed closer to Blair as the detective moved toward the doors, murmuring 'Excuse me...pardon me...' as he pushed past the other passengers.

Once out of the elevator, Blair looked at the scrap of paper he'd written John Sartellis' office number on. "Suite 2555." Looking at the numbers mounted above the various doors, they made their way to Suite 2555 and entered.

Frank was impressed by the lush décor of the office, and looked around admiringly. Blair, however, had no eyes for interior decoration, and didn't beat around the bush. He advanced on the receptionist with his badge already in hand. "Detective Sandburg, Cascade PD," he announced curtly. "Mr. Sartellis is expecting us."

If he was looking for an argument, he didn't get it; apparently the woman had been warned of their impending arrival. She spoke briefly on the phone, then smiled at them and waved towards a door to her left. "Go right in, Detective."

John Sartellis rose from behind his desk as Frank and Blair entered his private office, his hand extended. "Good morning, Detective."

"Mr. Sartellis." It was clear that Blair didn't like wasting time on the niceties, but courtesy won out. "This is Frank Hardy."

"Sit down, please, both of you." Sartellis gestured to the guest chairs in front of his desk, and seated himself behind it. "Now, what can I help you with that is so important?"

"It's regarding your cousin, Darius Sutherland," Sandburg stated, without preamble. "We believe him to be mixed up in the disappearance of this young man's father, Fenton Hardy, his brother Joe, and my partner, Detective Ellison. Have you heard from Mr. Sutherland since we last spoke?"

Sartellis shook his dark head. "No, not a thing."

"We need to find him – and them – as soon as possible," Blair said urgently. "When Detective Ellison and I spoke to you before, you said that you'd given Mr. Sutherland keys to this office and the building, and permission for him to work here and use your office facilities."

"That's right, I did. He wanted to keep in touch with his business back east, and that seemed the easiest way – and no real imposition on me."

"Do you have any idea where Mr. Sutherland might be, if he does not seem to be in his hotel, or here in this office building?" Blair queried. "I'm talking considerable lengths of time, here, not just an hour or two. If you haven't seen him here lately, and he hasn't been at his hotel – where might he be?"

John Sartellis blinked thoughtfully, and then nodded. "Possibly I might, yes," he said slowly. "I also gave him a key to a rental house I own, and told him that he was welcome to stay there if he wished, while he was here in Cascade. It's currently standing empty; I had some renovations done, and haven't gotten another tenant since. Darius said he didn't think he'd need to use it, that his hotel was fine, but I told him to keep the key while he was in town, just in case he changed his mind."

Frank caught his breath, and felt Blair stiffen in his chair. _A rental house!_ Of course! That made sense – all kinds of sense! No wonder they hadn't been able to locate Sutherland!

"Could I have the address of that house, please?" Blair was asking this all-important question in a very quiet, steady tone that revealed nothing of his inner turmoil.

Without speaking, John Sartellis reached for a piece of paper and a pen. He wrote briefly and pushed it across the desk to Sandburg, who scooped it up without looking at it. "Detective Sandburg, I don't know what's going on, what Darius has done or is involved with. I swear it. I hope this helps you find Detective Ellison, and the others."

"Thank you, Mr. Sartellis. Thank you very much. We'll be in touch." Blair got up; Frank did likewise, nodding a quick farewell to the businessman, and followed Sandburg from the room.

Once they were in the outer hallway again, Blair leaned against the wall as they waited for an elevator, and scanned the precious piece of paper clutched in his hand. "Okay," he murmured. "Let me set things up with Simon, and we're on our way."

#####

Boredom was ultimately setting in once again for Fenton and Joe Hardy and Jim Ellison. They had managed fitful naps during the night, with Joe mumbling that it felt like a fifth-grade sleepover he'd once gone to at Chet Morton's house, all of them sleeping on the floor like that. They had been given the obligatory bathroom visits and just after seven a.m. Ms. Van Lansing herself had brought them a quart carton of orange juice, some paper cups and a box of bakery muffins. But she had refused to meet their eyes or respond to their attempts at questions or conversation, and departed immediately after setting down the breakfast items, muttering only "I'm sorry," as she left.

"She's SORRY?" Joe expostulated. "That's all she has to say?" Grumbling, he bit into a muffin. "Hmmm...not bad, actually," he mumbled with his mouth full.

Ellison, who still was nursing a dull headache, languidly poured a cup of orange juice and sipped. He yearned for a cup of coffee – hot, strong, black with a spoonful of sugar – but evidently that wasn't on the morning's menu. Wistfully he thought of Blair's coffee at home – or Simon's fancy flavored brews in his private office...

"If they're being so nice to us, why don't we get any coffee?" Fenton rumbled.

Jim started, amused at their parallel thoughts. Feeling slightly comforted, since he wasn't the only one undergoing caffeine withdrawal, he took another drink of juice and reached for a muffin. _Hmmm, Joe was right; not bad_. "Maybe they don't have a coffee maker," he suggested. "Maybe that's what we heard being smashed yesterday."

Fenton snorted. "They bought orange juice and muffins; they could drop in at a Starbucks!"

"Dad, we're not tied up, we're not being tortured, we're being fed and treated nicely. Don't sweat the small stuff!" Joe took another muffin from the box as his father laughed.

Jim settled back against a wall and ate his meager breakfast, wondering if Sandburg and the rest of Major Crimes were having any luck trying to find him.

###

The morning passed slowly. The three men once again did some exercising, chatted, speculated on what their captors had in mind for them, napped, discussed what measures Frank and Blair – and the Cascade police – might be taking to locate them, and were often silent, each deep in his own thoughts. They could occasionally hear voices and movement elsewhere in the house, but no one came to disturb them. Ellison prowled the confines of their closet, looking for possible escape routes, but found nothing. Breaking the door down was feasible, certainly, but he was fairly certain that it was being guarded, and they had no clue about the firepower which might be outside that door. Better to hold off on any escape attempts for now.

For awhile, Jim and Fenton 'talked shop,' starting with their friend-in-common, Con Riley and going from there. They discussed New York City and Bayport and Cascade as far as police activity went, and reminisced about cases they'd been involved with over the years. They compared their respective military experiences and drifted from that into the various foreign countries they'd been in.

Joe listened, fascinated. He'd heard a lot of it before, at least Fenton's parts, but it was still interesting – and although Detective Ellison was close-mouthed about some of his military activities, he related enough to make it intriguing. When it came to the 'foreign shores' part of the conversation, Joe knew that Ellison wished his partner was there to join in; there were few places that Blair hadn't either been or knew a lot about from his anthropological studies.

He only hoped that his father would have a chance to be impressed with Detective Sandburg's extensive knowledge – and soon. Wasn't it time that Frank and Blair and the rest of the Cascade PD located them?

About eleven o'clock, Jim cocked his head slightly, trying to be unobtrusive in doing so. He was picking up on something going on outside the house, noises that were familiar to the experienced cop. The sounds of safeties on guns being removed, the soft sliding noises as weapons were checked one last time; _oh glory!_ the long-awaited sound of Sandburg's voice saying "On my signal, move in." Blair was here at last! Thank God! He tuned into his Guide's heartbeat, cherishing the familiar sound. He heard a decisive knock on the front door, and Sandburg's clipped "Cascade police! Open up!"

He refocused his gaze and found both Joe and Fenton looking at him curiously. "I think I heard something," he said, hoping that would satisfy them. Joe already knew he had very good hearing, after all. "There's something going on out—"

The noise that interrupted him was easily heard by all three. Yells, feet tramping, doors slamming, more feet running in panic. Fenton and Joe got to their feet, listening as best they could. Joe pressed his ear to the closet door. Jim concentrated, resting one hand on Joe's back, trying to be subtle about it but dialed up to catch each word, each action. It was almost like listening to an old-fashioned radio play.

Simon Banks' bellow: "POLICE! FREEZE NOW!"

A scream from Bobbi Van Lansing: "No! Don't! We're not armed! Bruno, don't! Darius, stop him!"

Steps pounding on the stairs, loud despite the carpeting, more than one person.

Blair again, nearer now: "Jim! JIM? Where are you? Move, damnit, move – get out of my WAY!"

Roars of outrage from several different people, most notably Bruno and Rico.

Simon: "Sandburg, watch it!"

And then a sudden _smack-thump!_ sound of flesh meeting flesh and a body colliding with a wall, followed by Inspector Megan Connor's shrill "Hold it right there, ya bloody dipstick yobbo!"

The Sentinel could stand it no longer. He could tell by the abrupt changes in Blair's heartbeat and respiration that the _smack_ - _thump_ had involved him, and Jim didn't like what those vitals were telling him right now. With a furious snarl he lunged against the closet door, intent on battering it down one way or another. Joe and Fenton flanked him, adding their efforts. "Sandburg! SANDBURG!"

A shout from outside the door made them pause. "Jim? Hang on, we'll have you out in a second." Something was dragged away from the door, and then it was opened. Jim, Joe and Fenton spilled out, nearly knocking down Simon Banks in the process. All three men paused momentarily to assess the situation.

They were in a minimally-furnished bedroom, but only Simon was there; all activity seemed to be located in the hall. Jim plunged across the room to the doorway, closely followed by Joe, Fenton and Simon.

Rico and Bruno were huddled together at the end of the hallway, with Connor keeping them covered, her gun rock-steady in her hands. Joel Taggart was standing at the top of the stairs with his gun also trained on the two, and behind him, peeking around the big cop's bulk, was Frank Hardy. At the sight of his father and brother, Frank pushed past Joel and surged into the upstairs hallway.

"Dad! Joe!" He flung himself on his father, grabbing at Joe on the way by. The three embraced tightly, oblivious of what else was taking place around them.

Jim had eyes for only one thing: the crumpled form of his Guide and partner lying altogether too quietly on the floor. He shoved Simon aside and dropped to his knees beside the fallen man. "Sandburg?" His hands reached, hovered, descended to tenderly touch and assess. "Chief? You all right?"

Blair let out a small groan, and then coughed, gasping for breath. "Y-yeah..."

"Easy, easy." Jim was still gently feeling for injuries. "You got the wind knocked out of you, that's all; it's okay, partner – it's okay. Take it easy." With Banks' help he turned Blair onto his back, and cradled his head in the crook of one arm.

Blair took one short, painful breath, then another, and opened his eyes. "Jim?" he wheezed. He stared at his partner in dazed incredulity. "Man, you look awful."

Ellison chuckled grimly. "I've seen you look better too." He touched Blair's rapidly-swelling cheek with careful fingers. "Thought I'd taught you not to lead with your face," he chided. "I don't think anything's broken, but that shoulder's going to be sore for awhile. And your face."

"I'm good." Blair sat halfway up, leaning into the support of Jim's arm. "God, I thought we'd never find you."

"It's only been what – twenty-four hours? Not even that."

"It seemed longer than that!" Blair grumbled, thinking of the frantic hours he had suffered through.

The rest of the Cascade Police officers calmly went about the business of taking their suspects into custody, ignoring the dramatic reunions as best they could, although both Taggart and Connor patted Jim fondly as they passed him.

"Jim, do you need to go to the hospital?" Banks asked, eyeing the bandaged head with concern.

"No, I'm fine. It's just a little cut – there weren't any Band-aids," Ellison replied absently. His attention was still concentrated on Blair – who in his opinion looked altogether too drawn and haggard. "But maybe he should...?" He indicated Sandburg with a tilt of his head.

"Not a chance," Blair stated without hesitation. He looked up as the three Hardys moved nearer, and sat upright. "Hey, Joe, good to see you!"

"You too," Joe grinned.

"Dad, this is Detective Blair Sandburg," Frank put in. "Blair – our dad, Fenton Hardy."

"Good to meet you." Sandburg held out his hand and found it gripped tightly by the tall, dark-haired man.

"Thank you," Fenton said huskily. "Thank you for finding us – and for taking care of Frank," he added.

Blair smiled. "Frank doesn't need much taking care of. And finding you was a great pleasure, believe me."

With some assistance, Sandburg gained his feet and stood close to his partner. Jim kept one supportive hand on the younger man's elbow.

"Sandburg, why don't you two go on home?" Captain Banks suggested. "I know you're lead on this, but we can sort out the details later. Everything's under control here."

Blair glanced up at Jim, noting his pale, unshaven face, the bandage that made him look like an extra from a World War I movie set, and the unmistakable lines of discomfort radiating around his eyes. His Sentinel had been hurting, no question of that. And right how, he, himself, was kind of hurting as well. An almost overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over Blair. "Jim? Want to go home?"

"Oh yeah." Ellison sighed, then abruptly pulled himself together. "What about..?" He gestured toward the Hardys.

Fenton smiled. "Well, if we can find the stuff they took from me, like my wallet and keys and such, I still have a room at the Best Western, and I'm willing to share it with my sons."

"That's right," Ellison nodded. "They took everything in my pockets, including my gun and my shield – I'm not leaving here without them."

"Me too," Joe piped up. "I mean, they have my wallet and phone and keys." He grinned. "No badge or gun."

"I have your phone, Joe," Frank noted. "We found it in the basement of Lincolnshire Tower. One of them must have dropped it."

Joe blinked. "Oh – okay. Good. Well, I want the other stuff."

"We'll find them," Banks assured him. "Connor! Find out where these guys stashed all the things they took from these three."

"Right, Captain."

"As soon as we have them we can go to the motel," Fenton told his sons.

"Their things are at our place..." Blair began.

"We'll get 'em later," Joe said. "This afternoon – or evening, okay?" He stretched, arching his back. "Right now I just want to take a nap in a bed instead of on the floor!"

"Simon? Can someone give them a ride to their motel?"

"Yes, Jim, I'll take care of it. Now – go home as soon as Connor finds your things. I mean it."

The two Cascade detectives obeyed without further argument.

The police rescue team focused on securing the site and preparing the prisoners for transport. The Hardys drifted to an unobtrusive corner to wait, content just to be together. Fenton stood between his two sons, one arm around Frank's shoulder, the other hand resting lightly on Joe's upper arm.

"Boys," Fenton sighed, giving each son a tight squeeze before withdrawing his arms, "I think I'll call your mother."

Frank handed his father his cell phone; Fenton smilingly took the phone and moved away from them, into the hallway, to make his call.

The conversation was short, but joyous. Promising Laura that he would call her later when they were back at the hotel, Fenton bid her adieu and ended the transmission. He was slightly surprised to discover that he must have paced, without realizing it, while he was chatting with his wife, because he now found himself in front of the end room of the hallway, looking through the open door into the sorrowful eyes of Ms. Roberta Van Lansing.

The young woman was sitting on the bed, handcuffed; apparently, the officers present didn't believe she posed much of a threat, and were content to leave her close by while they conducted a quick search of the adjoining bathroom.

"I'm sorry," the young woman stated softly. "It never was supposed to happen like this."

Fenton approached the entryway to the room, and leaned casually against the door frame. He nodded a quick greeting to the officer who peeked out from the bathroom at Bobbi's sudden remark; the officer, apparently satisfied, nodded back before once again focusing her attention on her search.

"And just how was it supposed to happen?" Fenton asked evenly.

"We were just here to convince Dar's cousin to agree to invest in a new project Darius was all excited about. I mean, that's why Darius was here. I just came to...to be with him. And to get away from...well, sometimes my family can be a little...smothering. We never meant to kidnap anyone."

"And yet, you wound up with three kidnapped people, not one."

Bobbi dropped her head and sighed. "Yeah, I know. Believe me," she muttered softly, "I was well aware of the fact that we could be brought up on three counts of kidnapping."

"So why did you keep us? Why not just let us go?" Mr. Hardy was honestly mystified.

The young woman gave a small snort of mild amusement before raising her eyes up to return Fenton's steady gaze. "Would you believe that we wanted to do that, just weren't sure that we could – I mean, could do so without getting into trouble?"

Fenton thought for a moment, then inclined his head ever so slightly to indicate that yes, he could believe that.

Her gaze once more returning to the bedspread she sat upon, Bobbi continued. "Darius – he's really rather a nervous type. His friends – Bruno and Rico – are a bit overprotective of us. They thought you were...harassing us, trying to talk to me when I didn't want to be found. They knew I was sort of hiding out from my parents. So they tried to...help. They grabbed each of you thinking Darius and I would be pleased. A bizarre sort of proof, I guess, of how far they were willing to go to protect us." She looked up as she said this, her pretty face thoughtful, as if she had just realized why Bruno and Rico had acted as they had.

"Anyway," she continued, "Darius was afraid for his friends at first – I guess they've run into trouble with the law before, and after they grabbed you, he wanted a day or two to figure out what to do with you. I thought – I really thought – I could persuade him to let you go, and that we could somehow convince you that it was merely a case of a joke that went too far."

"But before you could do that, these friends took Joe," Fenton stated quietly.

"Yes," Bobbi answered with a small nod. "And then we realized we were in a world of trouble. No one would believe us now if we tried to claim it was a harmless mistake." She sighed. "And then Rico found that cop searching his room and hit him and brought him back here, and...things just kind of spiraled out of control. We've never – this against-the-law thing. We didn't ever...before."

Ms. Van Lansing fell silent. Fenton straightened up from his slouch against the doorpost with the intention of returning to his sons. But Bobbi suddenly began speaking again.

"We finally decided to just run." She raised her head up to look the tall detective in the eyes. "We decided last night to leave you all here and run – leave the country. It wouldn't have taken you very long to figure out we were gone, and you'd have been free. But I had left my passport at the hotel. I couldn't get to it until this morning. It took Dar all morning to find a charter pilot willing to fly us where we wanted to go at such short notice – guess it's a busy season this time of year," she added, a rueful smile touching her lips. "But everything kinda came crashing down before we could leave."

"Yeah," Fenton responded, not unkindly, "police raids can have that effect on one's plans."

Bobbi shook her head in wry amusement at that. However, anything further she might have said was cut off by Joe's clear shout:

"Come on, Dad, our ride is ready to leave!"

Fenton nodded his head in farewell to his erstwhile captor, and turned to rejoin his sons. Yes, he thought, his son was quite correct: it would be rather nice to sleep in a bed again.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.

For those of you who think that Darius and Bobbi get off too easily - well, Talefeathers is/was a lawyer by profession, and I figure she knew more about what can be plea-bargained down and negotiated, than I do!

 **Missing Persons**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 13, Conclusion

At seven-thirty that evening a congenial group met at The Breakwater for dinner, gathering about a round table set beside a large window with a picturesque view of Puget Sound at sunset. Simon Banks was expected, but had accepted conditionally, citing paperwork that had been neglected far too long, and mentioning that he would probably be late. So only the three Hardys and Detectives Sandburg and Ellison were currently there.

All of them looked considerably better than the last time they had been together. Jim Ellison's makeshift bandage was now replaced by a tidy butterfly strip. The swollen bruise on Blair Sandburg's cheek had been reduced by the judicious application of cold compresses, although the discoloration would remain for days. All three former prisoners had showered, shaved and blissfully slept most of the day away – and both Frank and Blair had caught up on lost sleep as well.

"You're right, this place is great," Fenton observed now to Blair, looking appreciatively around the restaurant. "No wonder you suggested it for lunch the other day."

"Jim and I like it," Sandburg agreed. "And their dinner selections are even better than their lunches!" He scanned the menu happily, looking for his favorites.

It was natural that they would discuss the incidents which had involved them all, but they kept the conversation on other topics until after their entrées were partially gone and their hunger slightly assuaged. Then and only then did the subject come up.

"So – have you heard anything?" Joe demanded of the two Cascade detectives. "What's happened with those guys?"

"We haven't heard much, other than that they got a lawyer fast," Blair said. "Compliments of John Sartellis, Darius' cousin. That man just thrives on being helpful," he added with a wry grin, eliciting answering chuckles from Jim, Joe and Frank. "Simon may have some news when he gets here."

"I talked to Bobbi after you left, before they were taken to the police station," Fenton said quietly, and both Ellison's and Sandburg's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Dad! When did you—?"

"It was while you were sorting through all the stuff in that drawer, getting my things and yours, Joe."

"So what did she say?" Frank demanded. "And why didn't you tell us before now?"

"We were all tired and I figured it would get discussed this evening anyway," his father said, smiling.

"Okay, tell," Joe prodded.

Seeing that four pairs of eyes were fixed on him – and that, while Frank and Joe merely looked curious, both Sandburg and Ellison looked somewhat grim rather than amused, Fenton hastened to comply, giving a condensed version of his conversation with Bobbi Van Lansing.

"First of all, she did some apologizing," he began. "She insisted that they never intended to kidnap anyone, and things got out of hand." He continued with the explanation Bobbi had given him and was relieved to note that both the police officers' somber expressions lightened into amused resignation.

"After overhearing some of her tirade after they took me, I can actually believe it," Jim commented dryly.

"But it's so...stupid!" Frank exclaimed, shaking his head. "Why didn't they just let you go, instead of penning you up like that?"

"Panic makes people do strange things," Blair remarked. "Although I'd like to know just why Darius Sutherland panics so easily. But we may never find that out."

"Here comes Simon," Jim glanced across the room to the entrance door where Simon Banks had just appeared. "Maybe we can get some more info from him."

Banks looked wistfully at the others' half-eaten entrées, but shook his head when their deferential waiter asked if he would like to order. "Nah...I'm too far behind everyone else. But I'll have dessert when they do. And coffee now," he added. The waiter nodded and complied, and Simon settled back in his chair, sipping his coffee with evident enjoyment.

Without a word, Sandburg kindly put a portion of his salmon fillet on a bread plate; Ellison added a handful of French fries, and Frank contributed a few green beans and a clean salad fork, which they gravely passed over to the captain. Banks started to protest, looked again at the plate, and gave in with a pleased grin.

"Captain Banks, do you have any more news about the people who kidnapped Dad and Joe and Jim?" Frank asked hopefully, after a few minutes of eating and casual conversation. "What's going to happen to them?"

Fenton hid a smile behind his water glass; he might have expected _Joe_ to nail the big police captain and demand details, but hearing it come from Frank was a surprise. But then, he mused, Frank had been the one most involved with the work of finding them, in the end – and his elder son seemed to be on quite a friendly basis with the formidable Captain Banks.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Banks replied, smirking a little. "Their attorney managed to come up with a deal – a plea bargain. Slick work, I might add, and he did it fast. The DA was pleasantly surprised – and agreeable."

"What were the terms?" Blair inquired.

"Muscaletti and Tambura will be charged with kidnapping – Sutherland and Van Lansing are not being charged with anything, since they didn't actually do the kidnapping or the assault on you three. If that works for you?" Banks' eyes rested briefly on Fenton, then moved to Joe.

"What about unlawful detainment?" Sandburg sounded aggrieved on his partner's behalf.

Banks shrugged slightly. "I'm not the one who made the deal, Sandburg; I'm just giving you the facts of the matter. Look, kid, they aren't interested in pursuing it, they've got bigger fish to fry in Cascade with real crimes. Going after accidental kidnappers is just a nuisance and extra work."

Blair made an annoyed noise deep in his throat.

Jim smiled a little and patted his shoulder soothingly. "It's okay, Chief."

"So Rico and Bruno are looking at jail time," Fenton remarked, "and Bobbi Van Lansing and Sutherland are free to go. Well, I guess that's fair enough. She'll still have to explain to her family – that might be punishment enough!" He was remembering Bobbi's apology and explanation, and the mention of her 'smothering' parents. He chuckled a little. "But I'm going to add a kicker to my fee, for hazard pay!"

"We'll still need statements from you and Joe," Banks reminded him. "Tomorrow okay for you?" He looked significantly at his senior detective. "You can do yours first thing in the morning, Jim." Ellison grimaced, but gave a reluctant nod.

Fenton nodded too. "I've booked our flight home for just before six p.m. tomorrow evening. So we can get everything done easily before we go."

Joe sighed. "I wish we didn't have to leave quite so soon. Dad never got to see anything of Cascade."

"Sure I did," his father said. "I spent a lot of time running around looking for Bobbi Van Lansing before those guys grabbed me. Still," he grinned, "I admit, I spent a lot of time NOT seeing it too."

"Can we do anything yet tonight?" Joe suggested hopefully. "It's our last night in Cascade – the night is yet young – and we slept all afternoon, after all!"

The others laughed. "Ah, youth," Fenton murmured, shaking his head. "Sorry, son, but I don't think I care to – and if you and Frank went off to hang out somewhere, I'd spend the whole time you were gone worrying!"

Joe shrugged philosophically. "Well, it was a thought."

"Besides," Blair reminded him, "it's not like you and Frank haven't seen the city. You spent nearly a week dashing all over the place with Daryl last August."

"He's got a point," Frank conceded, to Joe, who grinned and let the subject drop.

When dinner was over, the Hardys followed Ellison and Sandburg to the loft to pick up the boys' luggage, then returned to their motel, promising to be at the police precinct downtown the next morning to give their formal statements and to say goodbye. Simon Banks reluctantly headed back to his office, knowing the stacks of files on his desk would not have magically disappeared during his brief absence. Jim and Blair gratefully settled in to watch a movie on television and continued unwinding from the stresses of the past few days.

#####

Darius Sutherland slipped silently onto the hard plastic seat on the visitor side of the glass-partitioned holding cell. He was enormously grateful to be on this side with the door he could freely walk through, rather than on the other side secured by heavy locks and watched by a guard. His relief at being free, however, was tainted with guilt that his liberty came at his old friends' expense: Bruno and Rico were to be charged with three counts of kidnapping while he and Bobbi were allowed to go free.

He wondered as he waited how Bruno would feel about the deal. Darius had only discovered late last night his fate, that of his girlfriend, and his two friends. While he had been elated that he – and Bobbi – were free to leave, he was dismayed at the news that Bruno and Rico would undoubtedly serve time.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp _snick_ of a key being turned in the lock of the door on the prisoner side of the room, and he looked up quickly to see Bruno enter the room. The big man allowed himself to be guided to the chair facing Darius, his mouth surprisingly upturned in a wide grin. "Darius!" he exclaimed, genuine warmth in his voice. "You're free! That's great!"

"Yeah, but...I'm sorry," Darius stated sadly, his guilt increased a hundred-fold at his friend's happiness in his freedom. How could Bruno be pleased with the situation? He was facing serious charges while he, himself, got to escape scot-free.

"Hey!" Bruno said gruffly, but not unkindly, "Why the long face? You're free, Dario." A sudden thought caused his smile to fall. "Or did they keep Miss Bobbi in too? They shouldn't do that," he rumbled, concern for the lovely young woman coloring his voice. "They shouldn't do that at all. Miss Bobbi is a lady; prison is no place for a lady."

Sutherland gave him a small smile. Trust Bruno to care for his and Bobbi's welfare over his own. "No," he said quickly, wanting to reassure his old friend. "No, they let her go too. It's just you and Rico who are being charged with the kidnappings."

"Well, that's right, after all," Bruno agreed calmly, smiling again now that he knew Darius and Bobbi had been released. "We were the ones who did the nabbing, not you or Miss Bobbi."

"Yes, but I—" _But I told you to – the first time! Or at least, I suggested it!_ Guilt still gnawed at Darius, but Bruno was having none of it.

"Now you hush, Dario," the larger man admonished gently. "Rico and I talked it over last night in the holding cell. We done the crimes, it's only right we do the time. 'Sides, this way I can meet some new people. Always interesting people in prisons."

"I'd imagine there are scary people in prisons," Darius retorted.

"Them too," Bruno conceded. "But they don't ever bother me or Rico none."

"No," Darius acknowledged, "I guess they wouldn't. As long as you're together, anyway." Privately he wondered if he could ask the lawyer to arrange something of this order, to see that Rico and Bruno were kept together while in prison. Surely that wouldn't be too much to ask, would it? The attorney John had engaged for them seemed knowledgeable and sympathetic enough. _Thank God for John!_

Bruno hated to see his brilliant, dazzling friend so sad. He had always been fascinated by Darius' sunny disposition and charm; that was partly why he and Rico had decided to stand up for him when they were all children. Darius had always attracted attention. And Bruno had always ensured that Darius only experienced the positive kind. He wanted to erase the unhappiness from his friend's features.

"Besides, we'll behave in there – so maybe we'll get out early. Rico 'n me, we know how to get along in jail. So, tell me before they kick you out, what will you and Miss Bobbi do now? Are you going back to New York?"

He was pleased to see a genuine smile break over Darius' face. "Bobbi and I are flying to Hawaii this afternoon...to get married."

"Hey," Bruno boomed happily, "that's great! Congratulations! Rico and I will come visit once we're out of here, if you're still there. Always wanted to go there."

"We'll probably have to go back to New York before then, but we'll make a special trip back later, so that you and Rico can go too," Darius vowed with a lump in his throat.

At that point, a sharp rap sounded on the locked door, signaling that Darius' visit had come to a close. The guard who had been waiting just outside entered the room and motioned for Bruno to get up. The big man complied, throwing one final grin at Sutherland before turning towards the door and shuffling out.

Darius watched in silence, wondering how he ever managed to get such a good and loyal friend.

#####

"Impressive place," Fenton noted softly as the three Hardys rode the elevator to the Major Crimes division. His favorable impression increased as they exited into the large square hallway with its embedded Cascade Police crest, and headed for the frosted-glass doors.

Once inside the Major Crimes bullpen, Fenton and Joe were escorted to separate interview rooms to give their statements; Fenton accompanied by Detective Rafe and an appreciatively wide-eyed Joe by Inspector Megan Connor. Frank, somewhat at loose ends, was offered a chair near Blair's desk where he watched the young detective efficiently type reports. Ellison was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Jim this morning?" he asked at last, and Blair grinned.

"First he had to do his formal statement, and then he had to run out to meet one of his snitches for another case. He said to tell you guys that you couldn't leave until he got back!"

Frank laughed. "We won't. Dad probably would like a tour of the building, if I know him."

"We can do that," Blair assured him. "Might not be me conducting the tour, but there's always someone around that doesn't mind showing the place off."

Ellison, however, returned a few minutes before Fenton emerged from the interview room. Joe had finished first and was waiting with Frank. The younger Hardy eyed Jim's feet surreptitiously and smirked a little. Whoever the snitch was, it must not have been the one they called 'Sneaks.' Ellison's shoes were still very much there.

"Get anything?" Blair inquired without pausing a beat in his rapid typing.

"Maybe," Ellison grunted and pawed through the stack of files on his desk until he found the one he sought. He took his notebook from his pocket and tore out a page, which he slipped into the manila folder. Then he looked up at Joe and Frank and smiled. "All done?"

"Yeah, we're just waiting on Dad. We thought maybe we could find someone to give us a guided tour of the precinct – if that would be all right."

"Don't see why not. Check with Rhonda; she'll draft somebody." Jim glanced up as Fenton re-entered the bullpen, accompanied by Rafe. "There's your dad."

An hour later, the Hardys returned to Major Crimes, still escorted by Rafe, who had volunteered to be their tour guide. Regretfully, he said goodbye and returned to his desk. Jim and Blair were at their desks; both men rose as the Hardys approached.

"Taking off?" Blair sounded a little wistful.

"Yes – going back to the motel to pack, check out—"

"And then go do touristy stuff until we have to get to the airport," Joe interrupted his father with a grin. Fenton ruffled his hair affectionately.

"We'll walk out to the elevator with you," Ellison offered, and the five left the bullpen, the Hardys waving farewells to the officers they knew.

As they stood in the square hallway, a hush fell briefly over them all. Handclasps were exchanged, then they stood, uncertain of exactly what to say or do. Characteristically, it was Joe who broke the silence.

"Tell Daryl we're sorry we missed seeing him. We'll catch him next time."

"Will do," Blair agreed. "Next time we get together, how about some more basketball? This time maybe two-on-two, or three-on-three?"

"Sounds good."

Jim laid a hand on Frank's shoulder. "I hear you're a hell of a chess player," he said quietly. "I'd like to play you sometime – if you wanted to."

"I'd like that a lot," Frank nodded.

"If you get back to the East coast, consider our home yours," Fenton invited, and the two Cascade detectives smiled their appreciation.

"We'll keep an eye out for seminars in New York City."

The _ping_ of the elevator arriving ended the moment.

"Safe flight..." "Take care out on the street, guys..." "Thanks again for everything..." "We'll be in touch." "Let us know you got home okay..." "Thank God for e-mail and texts!"

And they were gone.

#####

A young man and woman picked up their minimal baggage from the conveyor belt after the security cameras had scanned it, and resumed their stroll towards the departure gates. The young woman took a cell phone from her purse and dialed a familiar number as she walked.

"Hello, Mom? Hi, it's me – Bobbi. Yeah! Um...sorry I haven't called recently. Yes, I saw Mr. Hardy. He suggested I call you, yeah. I just wanted to let you and Dad know – I'm in Washington – no, not DC, the state. On the West coast. But anyway...I'm leaving in a few minutes. I'm flying to Hawaii...with my fiancé. Yes, that's what I said. No...you've never met him – but his name is Darius."

The End


End file.
